


The Wounds We Cannot See

by Luck_Kazajian



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Abuse, Arena fights, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Healing, Past Journey, Past-trauma, Slave Trade, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-01-04 18:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18349631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luck_Kazajian/pseuds/Luck_Kazajian
Summary: When Jin returns from a spiritual journey in the mountains to find Fuu comfortably nestled in her own tea house in Edo, the two of them decide three years is long enough to merit a reunion of their former party. The problem? No one seems to know where Mugen is. Jin doesn't think it'll be too hard to find him -- after all, Mugen leaves a clear trail of destruction. Sure enough, Jin tracks his former companion down, but what he finds is only a shell of the man he once knew. After healing Mugen's physical wounds, Jin and Fuu must decide what to do to heal the wounds that Mugen carries inside.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% certain where this story is going yet, but I wanted to post it to get it out of my head and down on "paper." So, I guess we'll all see where this ends up! Comments and/or suggestions are greatly appreciated. Some characters may be a little OOC.  
> I also wanted to nuance my rating a little bit. This is the first story I've written that contains abuse/torture of a sexual nature -- I usually write at a pretty solid T. While no rape is depicted directly, it is implied, and there are scenes in which a character is subjected to unwanted sexual advances/abuse, so I figured it should get due warning, as it's not a light subject.

**Prologue**

He must be losing his touch. It was only four guys. Four against one shouldn’t have been a problem. Four against one when he was blindfolded --blind, you idiot, call it what it is -- was a little unfair but he’d handled it pretty well until he didn’t. Still, they shouldn’t have taken him as quickly as they did. Was he losing his edge?

He shifted painfully on the dirt floor. It was too dark to see properly here. Not that that mattered anymore. He knew this room like the back of his hand now. The room was barely big enough for him to lay down in. He’d found that out long ago, the first time they threw him in here and he stubbed his toes on the wall when he tried to stretch his legs. He could touch the walls on either side of the room without fully extending his arms. The one hidden blessing about this whole thing was that they never tied him up. Not anymore. But when sitting up gave him a splitting headache, he guessed they didn’t have to worry much with rope.

His clothes and hair were stiff with crusted blood and he got dizzy when he moved. He’d explored his injuries as thoroughly as he could in this blasted dark -- fingers roving his body until he elicited a hiss of pain. He found at least three significant wounds -- a cut on his forehead, a stab wound in his side, and a long gash down his right thigh. Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure one eye was swollen, a few fingers on his left hand were broken, and there was something in his chest that didn’t feel right when he breathed in. He’d been in worse shape before. Hell, he’d died before. But he didn’t see crows yet. So he was alive. And alive hurt a lot more than dead. Hurt so much he wanted to...cry. But he didn’t cry. He’d spent all his tears years ago because only the weak cried. Only the dying cried.

And he was neither.

But his eyes betrayed him and he felt the hot sting of tears trickle down the side of his face. He hated himself for it. Hated the way his body gave in to weakness, beaten down until he submitted whether he wanted to or not. Hated the way his mind slipped into darkness. Hated the way he felt so utterly powerless.

He found his thoughts straying to her, as they’d often done in the last three years. Especially when he got himself in trouble. Especially when he was injured. He imagined her hands bathing his face, bandaging his wounds. Soft, gentle hands. No! Stop it. Stop being so damned weak.

But then his mind conjured him and his swords. Swords that could get him out of here, if only so he could show him up as he finished off the rest of the bandits single-handedly. Then he could collapse in her ar--NO!

The tears fell more steadily. He attempted to stifle the gasp that crept up his throat, knowing that if he let himself convulse with the deep breath it would hurt.

Gods, it would hurt.

There was no blade. At least, not that he’d found. But it felt like someone was twisting a knife into his back, the delicate, sharp point sliding effortlessly between his ribs, lodging, catching, twisting, tearing.

He couldn’t take this anymore.

He rolled over on his side, curling into himself, trying to find comfort, relief, trying to summon any of his usual cocky assurance. He’d been here before. And he’d always made it out. He’d make it out this time too. So why did he doubt that?

Because, this time -- this time it felt so empty.

There, he thought it.

He didn’t want to think it. Because if he thought it, then it became real. A demon that would wake the other demons that plagued his heart when the nights got black as pitch and guilt caught up to him. A demon that would taunt him, because the lights that kept the demons at bay were gone. And he’d been too proud to call them back. He’d been too damned proud of his reputation, of his own abilities, to tell them that he needed them. To ask them to stay.

And now -- now he was paying for it.

For the first time in his entire life, Mugen was afraid of death.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not being very familiar with Japanese, I have done some research when naming characters in the story. Some of the characters are named for the meaning of the name and some are named because I liked the sound of the name. I am also not totally familiar with all the types of clothing each character wears and have found conflicting terminology used when I've looked it up, so if you find mistakes, just let me know.

It had been too long since he’d been in town, Jin thought as he walked down the main street of Edo. Nothing much had changed since he’d been here last with Fuu and Mugen. Nothing except he was here alone this time. Jin smiled as he thought of his former traveling companions. The bright and optimistic Fuu and the crazy and stubborn Mugen. He would have never in a thousand years imagined traveling with the two of them, much less becoming friends, but despite all odds, it had happened. And then they’d all drifted their own separate ways, like flowers in the wind. Perhaps it was time they gathered back together again, Jin thought as he passed by a brightly colored poster advertising for a tea house in town.

It was called _The Three Roads_ and it caught his eye precisely because he was thinking of that crossroads three years ago. _There’s no way_...he thought, but he noted the address and headed that way. After one wrong turn, he found the tea house, a cozy little place tucked into a wide side street. It had a little courtyard beside it with a couple of tables scattered in a neatly kept garden of herbs and flowers. The tea house was bright with colored lanterns hanging off the door outside. When Jin walked in, he was met with the subtle scent of tea and the lighter scent of the incense burning in a small brazier hanging by the door. People filled couches and cushions around low tables in the tea house and he could see at least two waitresses working their way between the tables with tea cups, tea pots and food.

“We’ll be with you in a moment, sir,” one of the girls called out. “Please, find yourself a seat,” she said, gesturing to the room.

Jin found a seat at one of the few unoccupied tables in a corner near the front of the shop. A couple of decorative screens hid him from view of the door and he relaxed on the cushions while he waited on the waitress. A few minutes later she came and took his order - a pot of green tea - and disappeared into the kitchen. Jin was staring out the window of the tea house, head in his hand, watching people walk by through half-lidded eyes when he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.

He looked up to find her standing in front of him. Fuu looked no different than the last time he’d seen her at the crossroads, except she was wearing a pale green kimono instead of a pink one. She had the same warm, brown eyes, the same brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, the same bright smile.

Jin felt a slow smile stretch across his face right before Fuu threw herself at him for a hug.

“Jin!” she squealed as she locked her arms around his torso, unbalancing him and sending them both toppling to the floor in an ungainly tangle of arms and legs. “Jin, it’s really you!”

“Hello, Fuu,” Jin said, his face pressed against Fuu’s chest. Fuu sat up, straddling him.

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it’s actually you!”

“Yes, it’s me.” Jin straightened his glasses. “Now, may I sit up?”

“Oh, of course!” Fuu slid off Jin’s lap and sat on the cushion beside him. Jin sat up, straightening his own kimono. “It’s so good to see you again, Jin.” Fuu said, more quietly this time.

“It seems you’ve been doing well for yourself since we parted,” he said, looking around the tea house.

“I know! Isn’t it great? It’s all mine, you know.”

“Wow. That’s...impressive,” Jin said, taking a good look around the obviously successful tea house.

“I put a lot of work into it over the past few years. I worked in a tea shop before I traveled with you guys anyway so I figured it was something I’d be good at.”

“Where’d you get the money to buy your own shop?” Jin asked.

“I didn’t. I inherited the shop from a little old lady who wanted to retire. She used to live over the tea house and she gave me her house and the shop when she moved to live with her children in the countryside as long as I promised to keep the tea house up and running. So I did! And it’s been really successful!”

“It looks nice, Fuu,” Jin smiled at her.

“But what about you, Jin?” Fuu asked. “What have you been doing these last three years?”

“Traveling,” Jin said. “Hiring my sword out to those in need for a little food or coin. Visiting the mountains.”

“Sounds...exciting,” Fuu said, but the pause in her words told Jin she wouldn’t find all his wandering as fulfilling as he did.

Fuu looked at him for a long moment, eyes burning with curiosity. “Mugen?” she finally asked.

Jin shook his head.

Fuu looked down at her hands, knotted on her lap and slowly uncurled them. “Oh,” she said.

“I figured he might’ve been here once or twice in three years.” Jin tilted his head, watching Fuu’s reaction closely.

“I haven’t seen him since the crossroads,” Fuu said. “But I’d hoped…” she trailed off. “Well, I’d hoped he’d at least come visit someday. That’s why I named the tea house _The Three Roads_. I hoped that if you guys ever came to town again, you’d know what it meant and come find me.”

“Well, seems it worked, didn’t it?” Jin gave her a gentle smile.

“Halfway, anyway.” She smiled back, but her eyes were suspiciously bright, as if she were holding back tears.

Tears for Mugen?

“Hey, I’m sure he’s fine,” Jin said as he poured them both a cup of tea. “He’s probably knocking heads somewhere right now.”

Fuu sniffed and took the cup Jin offered her.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

* * *

Mugen paused, breath coming heavy. That something in his chest was still there, slicing into his lungs every time he breathed in. That couldn’t be good. But he couldn’t focus on that right now.

The tell-tale whistle to his right alerted him to a blade swinging for his head. He ducked low and pivoted on his hands, swinging his legs out and catching something that felt like shins in a vicious kick. He was rewarded with a snarl of pain and the clatter of a falling sword. Mugen crawled toward the sound of the sword in an instant, scuttling across the dirt floor like some scruffy, gangly spider.

His hand closed on a hilt and he grinned, feeling powerful again. Swords meant blood and blood meant death and death meant he lived another day. He cackled, the sound unnaturally loud in his ringing ears. When you couldn’t see, everything got louder.

Another whistle to his left and he threw the sword out, almost lazily, to block the incoming swing. He heard the satisfying clash of steel on steel. He pushed his own blade forward, using the other man’s sword as a guide to his heart. Mugen felt his sword slide into something soft and stiff, felt the hot splatter of blood on his arms and face, heard the death squelch of the other man as he gasped in surprise. The dull thud as his opponent hit the floor. The cheers that rose up around the ring.

He’d almost gotten used to the not seeing now. At first he’d hated it. He still hated it. But he was starting to understand it. It was almost as much a part of him as his sword. These days he could usually hold his own against two or three opponents. More than that and he’d end up flat on his back with fresh wounds. He hated that. Hated the weakness. Hated the fact that they’d reduced him to nothing more than a cock without his spurs.

Another swish behind him. Mugen jumped forward, cartwheeling across the arena. His bare foot scraped the wall as he completed the arc of his cartwheel, letting him know where his boundaries were. He put a hand on the wall, his other hand holding his sword out, defensive.

He tilted his head.

There.

The scuff of a foot on dirt. To his right. He turned his head left on purpose and waited. He felt the shift under his feet as his opponent picked up the pace, the subtle vibrations in the ground. He’d long since abandoned his sandals in favor of listening to the ground. A sharp intake of breath.

The hiss of the sword raising through the air.

The rustle of cloth on skin.

Mugen raised his arm and stabbed. He stumbled back into the wall as his sword sank into that same soft stiffness as before.

There was a choking gag, then a dull thud again. And that red, red blood. Mugen didn’t need to see it to know what color it was.

Thunderous cheers and applause assaulted his ears, the noise of it all setting his head spinning. He didn’t hear the man who came up behind him and pulled the sword out of his grip. Jerked him by the arm into the middle of the ring.

And then he was on his knees in the blood-stained dirt of the arena and someone was gripping his hair to force his face up to the crowds.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your champion!” the man shouted as he whipped off the scarf that covered Mugen’s eyes. Mugen winced as bright lit slid under his eyelids and speared his eyes -- what little of them weren’t covered by his bloody, crusted eyelids. He tried to put his head down, squeeze his eyes shut, but the man kept a hold on his hair, making him look up and he couldn’t seem to get his eyelids to obey.

The crowds’ cheering was louder now. It always was when they realized the blindfold wasn’t a trick.

Mugen felt the tears form. He couldn’t stop them anymore. They leaked from the corners of his ruined eyes whether he wanted them to or not, a reaction of pain, his eyes attempting to soothe themselves.

He felt the hot tears slide down his cheeks and he wanted to hide. Like he’d never wanted to hide from anything in his entire life. But the light was too bright and the crowds too loud and...all he wanted was her. Her cool touch on his ravaged face. Her breath to dry his tears.

_No, you bastard. That’s weakness. Stop it._

Mugen gnashed his teeth as the tears continued to flow.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Weeping Warrior!”

His cry of anguish was buried in the thunderous shouts of the crowd.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After posting this story, I realized there's a documentary called The Wounds We Cannot See as well (which I didn't know when I originally named the story). So I figured I'd just make a note here that there's no relation between the documentary and my story other than pure coincidence.

Edo was nice, but Jin couldn’t stay. Not yet. He needed to find one more thing before he settled down. He couldn’t believe Fuu talked him into this. She’d pressed a handful of ryo into his hand and wished him luck and told him not to come back without their shaggy-headed companion in tow. Jin smirked. He couldn’t deny that he was as curious as Fuu as to Mugen’s whereabouts. He hadn’t come across the unprincipled warrior in his own travels, although he suspected that Mugen’s path of sake and scarlet women would take them in very opposite directions. Still, he should’ve heard of the destruction of at least one town at Mugen’s hands, or the sea of broken hearts the ex-pirate left in his wake. No matter, Jin thought. He’d find Mugen soon enough with just a few questions. 

Or so he thought. 

In the end he wandered through four towns before someone pointed him to an old fisherman on the coast who might know something. Jin found the fisherman sitting on the edge of his boat, mending a net. 

“Oh, wild guy? Black hair, blue tattoos on his wrists? Carries a sword?” the fisherman replied when Jin asked about Mugen.

“That would be him,” Jin sighed. 

“He was here, oh,” the fisherman stopped to scratch his head. “About six months ago, I’d say.” 

“Six months! Do you know where he went after that?” 

The fisherman shrugged. 

Jin swore under his breath. 

“But, there have been rumors,” the fisherman said slyly. 

“What sort of rumors, old man?” 

The fisherman looked back down at his net and started humming as if Jin didn’t speak. Jin sighed. 

“Look, if it’s money you want, I can give you a few ryo, but I’m not rich and I’d like to know where my friend went, so I suggest you tell me. Because you’ll be telling me whether you want to or not.” Jin slid one of his swords an inch or two out of the scabbard. 

The old man’s eyes widened. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya,” he said. “And you can keep your ryo, blood money’s cursed anyway.” The fisherman shivered. 

Jin conveniently didn't tell him that his money was technically “tea money.” 

“When your swordsman came to town, he got in a fight with a group of pirates that have been lordin’ it over our village for years. Some kind of spat over a bottle of sake, I think. But it turned out the pirate captain knew your friend and went after him for revenge. I don’t know what happened after that, because I didn’t stay to watch, but in the morning, they were all gone. Your friend and the pirates. I thought that was the end of it, but I heard from a buddy of mine a couple weeks back that a black-haired swordsman with blue tattoos showed up in the Night Market fights.” 

“Night Market fights?” Jin asked. 

The fisherman took a quick look around to verify that the two of them were alone, then leaned in close, beckoning Jin to come closer too. Jin leaned forward and the fisherman continued in a low voice, almost a whisper. 

“The Night Market is a secret underground market, run by a pirate lord. They hold slave auctions down there and bet on fights between captured warriors.” 

“Slave auctions?” Jin’s eyes narrowed. 

“Aye,” the fisherman nodded solemnly. “I’ve only been once, years ago, and decided it wasn’t the place for me. But if you want to investigate the Night Market, talk to a man named Taizo under the bridge leading out of town. He’s usually there at sunset.” 

“Alright, I will,” Jin said. “Thanks, old man.” 

“Be careful, samurai,” the fisherman said as Jin walked away.

* * *

Turned out the fisherman was true to his word and Taizo was a brute of a man armed with a long knife who liked to threaten people. He answered Jin’s questions readily enough with  a sword at his throat. Taizo led Jin to small boat on the docks and told him to get in. Jin promised to slit his throat if this was a trick. Taizo rowed them up the coast to a hidden cove that could only be accessed from the seaward side. A set of docks extended from the cove into the water, hidden from view by the tall cliffs surrounding the cove. Jin saw several sloops and even one big two-masted ship docked and riding lightly in the water. Taizo rowed them past the boats, most of them empty at this time of the evening, and moored at one of the docks. With a grunt, he motioned for Jin to get out and pointed him to the mouth of a cave yawning black at the base of the cliffs. 

Jin thanked him and headed inside. After walking for about ten minutes down a dark tunnel lit with a few unevenly placed torches, the cave opened up into a huge underground chamber that housed what looked to Jin like an entire city. Weak shafts of moonlight slanted down in the few places that the cavern opened to the sky, but most of the light in the city came from the thousands of lanterns overhanging the streets.

Paved streets lead deeper into the cavern, winding their way between buildings, houses,  and food carts. The enticing smell of food wafted from many of the open doors. Men and women wandered around the cavern, some eating or drinking, others browsing the wares in the shop windows. For all intents and purposes, it was a city. Just, underground. 

Jin walked down the main street of the cavern, towards a large square at the center of the city where he could see a crowd of eager people gathered around a stage. As he walked through the city, he got a few stares, but otherwise was left alone to do as he pleased. Still, he kept his hand close to his sword as he joined the crowd at the edge of the stage. 

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen -- the grand reveal of tonight’s merchandise!” a voice bellowed over the chatter of the crowds. Jin looked up at the stage to see a stocky man who could have been Taizo’s twin standing with hands outstretched, wide red sleeves dangling from his elbows as he waved for the crowd to hush. “Our line-up tonight is sure to please!” the man shouted. “I hope you’ve brought full coin purses, because the bidding starts high.” He gestured at someone off stage. A young man was pushed out of the shadows at the back of the stage. 

His hands were tied together in front of him and his feet were connected with a length of chain just long enough to allow him to walk. He staggered up the three steps to the stage where the man in red grabbed his arm and yanked him to the front of the stage. The young man wore nothing but a loincloth, revealing a well-muscled body, strong from constant work or training. 

Jin looked away in disgust as the man in red began describing the young man’s best qualities. 

“A bodyguard, no?” he called. “Or a samurai’s servant! He’s got a pretty face, perhaps an addition to your brothels madams and masters?”

The bidding began as Jin turned his back on the stage and walked away, feeling sick to his stomach. The fisherman said Mugen was a part of something he called the Night Market fights, so there was no need for Jin to stick around the slave auction. Besides, if he stuck around too long, he knew he’d try to free the slaves and he didn’t need to get himself caught up in this before he found Mugen. Might as well try to find the fights since he was down here. 

Jin wandered the edge of the square, stopping passerby to ask about the fights. Some people outright ignored him. Others laughed at him and walked away. Finally, he found one man who seemed a bit more cooperative. 

“The fights, eh?” he said. “Why, you owe somethin’ to Baku?” 

“Perhaps.” Jin opted for a neutral answer since he had no idea what the man was talking about. 

“Well, if you’re lookin’ to fight, you’ll have to talk to Takuo up there when he finishes the auction,” the man said, pointing at the auctioneer in red. “There’s no fights on auction nights, but he’ll get ya in the ring if ya want.”

“Thanks,” Jin said. 

“No offense though, but you don’t look like much of a match for the Weeping Warrior,” the man said. 

“The Weeping Warrior?” 

“Sure, he’s the current champion. Ya gotta fight him if ya want to clear your debt. Anybody who beats him gets forgiven. Been very few men who’ve beat him. Even though he can’t see ‘em!” The man laughed. “Well, good luck to ya, samurai.” He clapped Jin on the back and walked away. 

“Can’t see them…” Jin muttered under his breath. “Why not?” 

Just then a commotion on the stage caught his attention. The man in red was gesturing for the crowds to quiet down again. “How ‘bout a show, ladies and gentlemen?” he asked, waving his hands over his head. “How ‘bout a show before we line up the ladies on the block tonight? A showcase of Baku’s finest, eh?” 

The men and women around the stage cheered. There was a scuffle at the side of the stage as someone was forcibly wrestled towards the stage. 

“I ain’t a show monkey, let go a me!” a voice shouted. A voice he recognized all too well. “I can walk myself!” 

There were some grunts and what sounded like a hand striking flesh, then a man was shoved up on stage, a man in a dirty red jacket over a shirt so covered in blood and grime that Jin could only guess at its original color. A man with shaggy black hair and blue tattoos on his wrists and ankles. It was Mugen. 

Mugen stepped onto the stage slowly, lacking some of his usual discord, but that was probably because he was blindfolded. He wore no shoes, Jin noticed, and seemed to feel his way with his feet. Despite the blindfold, he stopped confidently in the center of the stage, facing the crowd. Jin was surprised to find that Mugen wasn’t armed, but then again, nobody in their right mind would hand Mugen a sword if they wanted to keep him contained.

Takuo grabbed Mugen’s left wrist and hefted it over his head. Mugen grimaced as the man yanked his arm, as if it hurt. Jin searched him for any obvious injury, but with all the blood and dirt he was covered in, it was hard to tell if anything was an injury or someone else’s blood. 

_ Did they not let the man bathe?  _ Jin thought, frowning in disgust. 

“Who wants to try him tonight?” Takuo shouted. “Who wants to challenge the infamous Weeping Warrior?” 

The Weeping Warrior was the name of the current champion of the Night Market fights. So, Mugen...was the Weeping Warrior? That hardly seemed like a name Mugen would give himself. Jin walked closer, eyes narrowed as several men in the crowd raised their hands to be selected as Mugen’s opponent. There was some shouting and shoving and catcalling as men fought each other for the chance to prove themselves. Suddenly one man rose up as the champion of the impromptu brawl. He jumped up on the stage. Mugen tensed. 

Takuo pointed at the newcomer. “Who thinks he can take the Champion's blindfold?” he asked the crowd. There was immediate betting from all sides. Jin folded his arms. They were making Mugen fight blindfolded? This seemed to be a common occurrence and he heard most of the bets placed in Mugen’s favor. That must’ve been what the man meant when he said Mugen fought opponents he couldn’t see. 

Takuo stepped back, releasing Mugen’s arm. He walked to the edge of the stage. “Contestants at the ready!” he shouted. Mugen crouched and his opponent adopted a fighting stance. “The Weeping Warrior wins if he knocks new blood here,” Takuo jerked his chin at Mugen’s opponent, “off the stage and new blood wins if he takes The Weeping Warrior’s scarf! Go!” Takuo jumped off the edge of the stage as the man charged Mugen with a yell. 

Mugen simply danced out of the way of the man’s thundering charge and slapped him across the back of the head as he passed. The man growled and turned to grab him, but Mugen was already three steps away, feet spread wide and head tilted. The man turned and tried to charge Mugen again. Mugen spun lightly out of the way a second time. As the man passed him, Mugen planted his foot in the man’s backside and shoved him to the edge of the stage. The man caught himself right before he fell off. There were groans and chuckles from the crowd. 

“I’ve fought whores tougher than you!” Mugen mocked him. “C’mon, you haven’t even gotten close!” He beckoned at the man, despite the fact that he couldn’t see him. 

The man didn’t immediately charge this time. He didn’t yell or make any undue noise. He’d caught on, Jin realized. Without his sight, Mugen relied most heavily on his hearing. Being quiet would give the man a chance to try and sneak up on Mugen.

Mugen tilted his head, listening. The man shuffled slowly across the stage, trying to get close enough to grab Mugen before Mugen realized he was there. 

“You breathe louder than a sick cow,” Mugen taunted. 

Jin highly doubted Mugen had personal experience with sick cows, but his insult worked regardless. The man huffed angrily and Mugen smiled, the slow, confident smile of a predator. Mugen backed toward the edge of the stage until the heel of one foot hung off the edge. 

“And you’re slower than a one-legged cat!” he yelled. 

Jin snorted. A one-legged cat would be very slow indeed.

The man picked up the pace and Jin shook his head. On the raised wooden stage, Mugen had all the advantage, even blindfolded. Because every footstep on the thin wood floor vibrated, letting Mugen know exactly where his opponent stood. Mugen had always been an unorthodox and adaptable fighter. Given enough time to figure himself out, Jin had no doubt Mugen was nigh unbeatable.

The man got within an arm’s length of Mugen and then he pounced. Mugen ducked out of the way of the man’s grasping fingers and grappled the man around the waist, bending to throw him over his shoulder. But the man expected it, and he grabbed Mugen and fell, letting his heavier deadweight pull Mugen off balance. The two men toppled to the floor and the man threw Mugen under. Mugen grunted as they hit the stage. The man reached out for the blindfold. Mugen jerked forward suddenly and head-butted him. The man lurched back with a shout, half-standing and clutching at his nose. Mugen crumpled for a moment, as if the head-butt hurt him more than he’d expected. With obvious effort, he pulled his legs up, rocked back on his shoulders, and lashed out with a kick straight to the man’s chin. He followed through by rolling into a backwards somersault, but Jin noticed that he was a little unsteady as he came to his feet. The man growled in rage just in time to be caught off guard by Mugen ramming into him and shoving him back to the edge of the stage. This time, the man went over. He grabbed at Mugen’s face in one last desperate bid to snatch the blindfold as he fell, but Mugen swayed out of his reach as the crowds erupted in cheers, chants, and applause. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Takuo jumped back up on stage. “Your champion!” he pointed at Mugen. Mugen stood on the edge of the stage, scowling. He didn’t acknowledge the cheers, or Takuo, or the crowd. In fact, Jin noticed he was breathing heavily and stood canted to one side, as if favoring his right leg. His earlier suspicions were renewed -- Mugen was injured. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t run yet. Perhaps Takuo and this Baku fellow were keeping Mugen injured so he couldn’t escape. 

Jin’s blood boiled as he watched Takuo guide Mugen to the edge of the stage. Once on the stairs, he gave Mugen a slight shove, sending him toppling into the hands of an auction official below, who quickly hustled him behind the stage. Mugen made no protest this time. 

Jin scowled. The Mugen he knew definitely wouldn’t let himself be subjected to this of his own free will. What had happened to him since they parted ways? 

Jin needed to see what was behind that stage. 

* * *

Jin watched auctioneers walking around backstage, organizing people and keeping order. There was a cage in the back as well, a cage with a solitary occupant. Jin doubted they’d let him walk up to the cage and have a chat with Mugen. After all, the back of the stage was cordoned off with scarlet rope and watched by burly guards placed strategically around the cordoned section. 

Jin’s mind whirled. He needed a good excuse to see Mugen up close. Perhaps...he scowled at the idea, but this  _ was _ a slave auction. And no one said Mugen  _ wasn’t _ for sale. He pulled out his purse and checked the contents. A few ryo jangled in the bottom of the small bag. Nowhere near enough to buy a human being. A bluff then. He needed to find out what they wanted for Mugen. He walked up to one of the auction officials on the edge of the cordon, ignoring the barely-dressed girl on the stage beside them. 

“Excuse me,” Jin cleared his throat. 

The auction official looked up at him lazily. “Yes, sirrah?” he drawled. 

Jin narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything about the man’s sloppy honorific. “How much for that one back there?” Jin asked, pointing at Mugen. 

The official tilted his head and slowly turned to look the way Jin was pointing. “The Weeping Warrior?” the official’s tone was incredulous.

“Yes, that one,” Jin repeated. 

“He’s not for sale.” The official spat on the ground and turned back to Jin. 

“Not even for the right price?” Jin asked, patting his pocket surreptitiously.  

The official frowned. “Not even then, pretty boy. Why, you want him or something?” 

Jin kept a straight face and nodded. “Yes. I’m looking for an attendant to keep my swords and carry my supplies when I travel.” 

“Keep your sword, eh?” the man laughed, looking pointedly between Jin’s legs. 

“Something like that,” Jin sighed, suppressing the urge to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt dirty just talking to this official and wanted to leave and wash himself of the filth of this place, but he knew that wouldn’t help Mugen, so he stood still. If there was one thing he did well, it was keep his poise and a straight face. “Besides, he seems like he’d be a dogged specimen,” Jin added, feeling like a fool as the words left his mouth. 

But he seemed to have found the right language for the official who tossed his head back and laughed harder. “He’s a damned dog alright,” the official said. “Bites like one too. But like I said before, he’s not for sale. The boss’d kill me if I sold his champion.” 

“Then what is he here for?” Jin asked. 

“To advertise,” the official said as if that were obvious. “Now get out of my face, pretty boy. I’ve got people to sell.” 

Jin walked away with a scowl. So buying Mugen out wasn’t an option. But what was he here to advertise? The Night Market fights? From what the official said, Mugen was the champion. But if that was the case, why was he so beat up? Most of the slaves being brought to the stage were in better shape than he was, if more terrified than Mugen. And who wouldn’t be terrified, Jin thought, feeling a twist in his stomach again. The men and women who crowded the stage shouting prices were pirates, thugs, madams and masters. The people being sold could expect lives as slaves, hired muscle, and whores -- short, painful lives. Jin turned away. He needed another avenue. 

He kept an eye on the auction as the night wore on from a bar across the street, a cup of cheap sake at hand. It was hard to tell time here in this underground city, but Jin guessed it was near two in the morning before the auction wound down and the crowds began to disperse, taking their new “merchandise” with them. Torches started going out along the street and the auction officials snuck off to count their coin, leaving the auction square relatively empty. Jin stood up and dropped a few coins on the table. He left the bar and headed the opposite direction from the square, just in case anyone was watching him. When he got a safe enough distance away, he doubled back and snuck back into the square. He could see Mugen’s cage still sitting at the back of the stage, a very still figure slumped against the bars.  _ Gods, he wasn’t dead, was he?  _ Jin shoved the thought aside. They wouldn’t just let him die if he was a champion. Besides, Mugen wasn’t the type to die. 

Jin slipped silently across the square until he was standing beside the cage. Mugen slumped in the corner, shaggy head down, his posture casual, wasted. Jin walked up to the bars and felt his stomach shift at the sight of his friend. Up close, he could see that much of the blood on Mugen’s clothes was his own. No wonder he wasn’t moving. Jin wondered how Mugen had even managed to keep his feet in the fight earlier. From the way he held himself, Jin imagined he’d suffered broken ribs at some point. He noticed that he didn’t have the blindfold from earlier, but with his head down, Jin couldn’t see his face.

“Mugen!” Jin called softly. 

Mugen started, the motion carefully suppressed, but he hissed in pain. 

“Mugen!”  

His head came up and Jin stifled a gasp. Mugen’s eyes were nearly crusted shut under a nasty combination of blood and puss. His right eye was swollen, his cheekbone busted and bruised on that side. Tiny, precise cuts criss-crossed his eyelids. Slow tears leaked from the corners of his ruined eyes. The Weeping Warrior. So the blindfold wasn’t for show. Jin’s only comfort was that Mugen’s eyes hadn’t been gouged out -- his eyelids weren’t sunken in like Jin had seen on men missing their eye, but he had no way to tell if Mugen was permanently blinded or not. 

“Gods, what have they done?” Jin murmured. 

Mugen turned his head toward the sound of Jin’s voice. 

“Who’s there?” Mugen demanded. 

“It’s me. It’s Jin,” Jin said. 

“Jin?” Mugen’s voice broke on the single word. He shuffled to Jin’s side of the cage. “You can’t be him,” he said. “They said you were dead. You and -- ” he cut himself off. Jin had the sinking suspicion he had been about to say ‘you and Fuu.’ 

“I’m alive,” Jin reassured him, puzzled. “And so is Fuu,” Jin added. Why would anyone want Mugen to believe that he and Fuu were dead? “Fuu runs a tea house in Edo. She sent me to find you.” 

“Prove it,” Mugen growled.

“That Fuu runs a tea house?” 

“No, dumbass, that you really are that stuck up pony-tail samurai.” Mugen’s words were harsh, but his tone was hollow -- a cover.

“Ronin,” Jin sighed, the correction nearly automatic. 

Mugen chuckled. “He would say that. But that’s not proof enough.” 

Jin frowned and looked around helplessly for a minute. How was he supposed to prove to Mugen that he was Jin? He did the first thing that came to mind. He reached through the bars of Mugen’s cage and grabbed Mugen’s wrist. At his touch, Mugen flinched, stiffening and drawing back his other hand as if to strike Jin. 

“Stop struggling, you fool!” Jin hissed as he brought Mugen’s hand through the bars to touch his face. 

Mugen stilled as he felt the outline of Jin’s glasses under his hand. 

“Well, I never figured we’d end up this close,” Mugen chuckled as his fingers explored Jin’s face. Jin stopped him when he tried to put a finger in his mouth. Mugen smiled, that lopsided, mischievous smile. “Yup, it’s you alright,” he muttered. “Got a mouth as thin as a starved snake.” 

“How the hell would you know what a starved snake feels like?” Jin asked, the familiar ire in his tone.  _And why was that his defining feature?_

“Shut up, four-eyes,” Mugen snapped, withdrawing his hand. “What are you here for anyway?” 

“Do you want me to answer or shut up?” Jin asked. 

“Answer.” There was a desperate quality to Mugen’s voice that Jin had never heard before, although he supposed that being essentially blind could do that to a man. Especially to a man who had always been able to watch his own back before. Not to mention the other wounds Jin could see on his legs and arms and the bloodstains on his shirt. Even Mugen would have a hard time being cocky if he was in as much pain as Jin suspected.

“I’m here to...rescue you,” Jin said, the word tasting strange on his tongue. 

“I don’t need rescuing!” Mugen snarled. 

“Oh, then why are you still here?” Jin pointed out, hands on hips. “Why aren’t you gone already?” he demanded.

“Because I don’t--” Mugen stopped abruptly, scowling like what he was about to say came hard. “I don’t know where I am,” he hissed. 

Jin felt something cold settle in his stomach. What a horrific way to keep someone prisoner. If Mugen wasn’t already familiar with his territory, he’d be at a huge disadvantage navigating a space he couldn’t see. It would be easy to overwhelm him and drag him back, especially down here in the caves where they could block the only way out and wait for him to run into their trap.

“You’re underground,” Jin said. “In the Night Market.” 

A slew of curses left Mugen’s mouth. “Underground!  _ Dammit! _ I should’ve known Baku would run his  _ market  _ underground _. _ ”

“So, you know the guy who runs this racket?” 

Mugen shrugged. “He was a pirate, I was a pirate, you know the gig.” 

Jin was about to point out that no, he didn’t “know the gig” when Mugen suddenly stiffened. “Shut up,” he hissed, even though Jin wasn’t talking. “Someone’s coming.”  

Jin looked up and saw two of the auction officials walking their way with lit torches, chatting and laughing between themselves.

“They’re going to take me back,” Mugen said, tone flat, death-like.

Jin hovered by the cage a moment longer. The two men were making enough racket that they probably hadn’t heard him and Mugen talking yet. Besides, with their torches, they’d be blind to all but the small circle of light at their feet. He still had time. “Back where?” he asked.

“To him,” was all Mugen said. “Now get out of here before they get you too.” 

“Are you actually worried about my safety?” Jin asked, incredulous. 

“Of course not,” Mugen hissed, but his tone was missing some of its usual acid. “But you can’t get me out if you’re in here too. Now get outta here.”

“I’m going to get you out, Mugen. I swear.” 

“Sure,” Mugen made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a cough. “Sure, that’s what they all say.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the bars, as if even the act of holding his head up was too much. 

Jin slipped away as the men with the torches got closer, but he watched from the shadow of a nearby building as they began to pull the cart with Mugen’s cage out of the square. 


	4. Chapter Three

Hearing Jin’s voice was a cruel type of torture. On one hand, he was relieved to know that Jin wasn’t dead. On the other hand, he hated him for giving him hope again. Because hope was empty. Hope had failed him. The only way he hadn’t succumbed to all this torture already was because he’d nailed hope to a cross and watched it die a slow, agonizing death. Because he’d pushed himself to a place where he didn’t feel anymore. He just lived. And it was emptier than Mugen expected, but it was existence and existence was better than death. Until now. 

Now even existence taunted him. 

But he’d felt the man at the cage tonight. There was no denying that was Jin. 

_ Fool, you don’t know what Jin feels like. He could’ve been any thrice damned bastard wearing glasses for all you know. _

But Mugen so desperately wanted it to be Jin. More desperately than he’d ever wanted anything before. 

Except maybe h--

_ DON’T GO THERE. _

Because going there hurt too much. 

Mugen howled.

He was rewarded with a sharp prod in the side, the familiar rounded end of the auction guards’ short staves. Mugen had enough experience with them to recognize the blunt ache they left on his ribcage. 

“Maybe they oughta name him the Weeping Wolf,” one of the men suggested. 

His companion found that outrageously funny and laughed loudly as the two men grabbed the handles attached to the front of the wheeled cage and began pulling it out of the square. Mugen felt the familiar jerk as the cage moved forward, the bone-jarring clatter as it jolted over uneven cobbles, going deeper into the Night Market. He’d known he was in the Night Market for a while -- hard not to when there were regular fights and auctions and that fat pig Baku lording over it all. But he hadn’t known that the Night Market was underground. It was something he’d heard of as a pirate. A paradise created by pirates and ruled by a pirate king. He’d scoffed at the idea and never looked for it himself, believing it to not exist. Perhaps if he’d believed the rumors, he wouldn’t be here now. Perhaps if he’d believed Aiko...

Mugen slumped against the floor of the cage, trying to hold himself as steady as possible as the rough cobbled road reminded him of every injury, every bruise, every broken bone in his body. 

Baku was killing him. Slowly. A cut here. A broken bone there. Enough time in between to keep Mugen on his feet. But Mugen’s strength was flagging and he knew it. The last few fights in the arena had been hard -- too hard -- and the periods of recovery between fights were helping less and less. He still had a hitch in his side from what he suspected were broken ribs not yet healed and he’d lost some of the dexterity in his left hand. He’d felt the crooked fingers himself, knew they weren’t straight anymore. That they didn’t form a fist as well as his right hand. Baku wanted to wear him down, humiliate him, leave him utterly helpless -- and it was working.

Mugen shuddered. 

If Jin was here to rescue him, he’d better hurry the hell up. Or he’d be rescuing a corpse.

* * *

Jin spent the night in an inn with walls thin as paper and more rats than guests. The only good thing about it was that the place was cheap. He got a room to himself, though he slept with his swords beside him, not trusting himself to the flimsy security of the underground inn. He was somewhat surprised when he woke without any disturbance in the night. While his internal clock told him that it was morning, the biggest indication down here was that people were awake and moving about instead of drinking and sleeping. There was very little sun here to herald the day, and hardly any difference in the light, save that a few less torches burned in the scant areas where the cave opened to the sky. Jin straightened his clothes, having slept in them last night, and strapped on his swords before heading out to find Takuo. Since this Baku fellow didn’t seem fond of parting with Mugen in the auction, Jin figured his best chance now was the Night Market fights. 

He had the vague outline of a plan bouncing around in his skull. One that carried a large amount of inherent risk -- to Mugen more than himself. One that he would have to spring on Mugen without warning. He couldn’t pass notes to Mugen or give him any visible sign to prepare. In fact, his plan would probably work better if he caught Mugen by surprise. The only danger to himself was that he would need to get in the ring and fight Mugen, but he’d had plenty of experience with that before. He was certain that he could hold his own against Mugen, especially in Mugen’s weakened condition. The danger for Mugen was death. Jin took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to gambling with lives like this, but it was the only way out of this mess that he could see.

Jin stepped out into the street, making sure his few ryo were carefully tucked under his clothing, and set about asking after Takuo. He found the man quickly enough, set up at a wooden booth on the edge of the empty auction square, wearing the same red robes as last night. As he got close, he could see that the robes were faded and in need of a good wash. The glimmer of the golden dragons stitched on the front of the robes only looked grand at a distance, in the uncertain light of flickering torches. Jin found that torchlight did a lot to hide the shabby appearance of the Night Market, made it more mysterious and lofty than it would appear in the light above ground. 

Takuo looked up as Jin’s shadow fell over him and blinked. 

“I’m here to fight,” Jin said simply. 

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Takuo gave Jin a calculating gaze. 

“You haven’t,” Jin said. 

“Then I’m guessing you haven’t seen our champion, have you?” 

“The Weeping Warrior?” Jin asked, sounding bored. 

Takuo tilted his head. 

“I saw him last night at the auction,” Jin said. 

“Are you the pretty boy who tried to buy the Warrior?” Takuo asked, leaning forward and grinning wolfishly at Jin. 

Jin inwardly sighed. “I am,” he said. 

Takuo guffawed, slapping his knee as he rocked with laughter. “You really aren’t from around here,” he said, making a show of wiping a tear from his face. “You oughta know Baku isn’t going to sell his champion.” 

“Considering that I didn’t see a champion, but a mere blind slave, I don’t think he’ll be much of a challenge.” Jin scoffed. How did men speak like this and not regret every word off their tongue? 

“You saw him fight last night, surely?” Takuo asked, incredulous. 

“A trick of the stage.” Jin waved a hand in the air. “Nothing more. Your champion could feel the vibrations of his opponent’s footsteps on the raised wooden stage. It was a pretty trick, but to pit a blind man against a master swordsman seems to me unfair.” 

“Are you saying you’re a samurai?” Takuo asked with a sly smile, like he was suddenly privy to a great secret. 

_ Well, close enough. _ “What else would I be?” Jin looked down his nose at Takuo and this time he didn’t have to feign the indignance. 

“A man wearing a big sword to get his way,” Takuo said. 

Jin narrowed his eyes and dropped a hand to the hilt of his blade. “Put me in the ring with the Weeping Warrior and I’ll show you what my sword can do.” 

Takuo grinned, a slow, wicked smile. “You got it, boss,” he drawled.

* * *

He felt the hands slide up his shirt, explore his ribcage, probing, pressing, prodding old bruises and new hurts. He couldn’t help it. He stiffened, skin tingling at the touch of rough hands. Warm hands. Hands that Mugen detested. The hands slid further up his shirt, touched his chest. It took everything in him not to shudder. Because if Mugen shuddered, then  _ he  _ would laugh. And Mugen wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

Baku tugged Mugen’s shirt over his head, the motion smooth, practiced. Mugen felt goosebumps run up his arms and he fought the instinct to shiver. A hand pressed against his stomach, fingers spanning from ribcage to belly button. The hand sank into empty flesh, pressing until Mugen thought Baku would squish his guts into his spine. Then the pressure relented. The hand strayed, falling toward his waistline, dipping dangerously across his hip bones. This time Mugen flinched, lashing out with one arm. He was rewarded with a hiss of pain as bone connected with bone and the hands retreated. Only to return in a backhand to his face so hard it set his ears ringing. He stumbled back, fell, crashing gracelessly into something hard with sharp edges. He felt a corner gouge his back and then he hit the floor. He lay where he fell, half-turned on his side, trying to catch a breath that wouldn’t come. Helpless. 

He heard the footsteps. Knew he’d feel the hands again. Dreaded it with every fiber of his being. Baku knelt beside him, his presence  _ heavy.  _ It was the only way Mugen could describe the big man. Even without his sight, he could pinpoint Baku anywhere. The man exuded an aura -- an oily, confident, power-sick aura. 

Mugen trembled, half from cold and half from dread anticipation. This time, he couldn’t stop the shudder as a hand slid down his spine, one finger tracing the ridges in his backbone, pausing a moment on each vertebrae. Baku chuckled softly. His finger stopped at the bottom of Mugen’s spine.

“Did she like it, Mugen?” Baku asked. “When you laid her?” 

Mugen didn’t answer. Baku had asked him the same question a hundred times. Mugen had answered at first. Cocky.  _ Of course she’d liked it.  _ Then angry.  _ She’d liked me better than you, you bloated pig _ . He’d lashed out at Baku, cursed him, spat on him. And only got blows and injury in return. He soon learned that silence was his only refuge in this dangerous dance. And he refused to answer the question anymore. Baku was reliving the past. A past that the present couldn’t change. No matter how hard either of them wished it. 

“Did she die with the taste of you on her lips?” Baku’s finger traced his mouth. Mugen pressed his lips together and turned his face away. 

“Did she die with the feel of you still warm between her legs?” Mugen knew what came next and this he never endured willingly. He hated the feel of those rough hands stroking him, eliciting responses from his body he couldn't control. Making him  _ want  _ but never allowing him satisfaction. A twisted, cold, and  _ wrong  _ affection Mugen dreaded. 

The hand traced his stomach again, dropping low, hooking the waistline of his pants. Before the hand could go any lower, Mugen kicked Baku, but the blow was only glancing. There was a rush of movement, the slither of cloth, the thud of flesh on the wooden floor as Baku slung Mugen onto his back and straddled him, pinning his arms to the floor beside his head. Something pressed uncomfortably between his legs. A knee. Mugen held still. 

“How many, bastard!?” Baku screamed at him, spit spattering his face. “How many?” 

Mugen didn’t answer though every atom of his being screamed for him to fight, to say something, to give into the blood-rush in his head. It was a slow torture in and of itself, this inability to resort to anger to free himself like he always had in the past.

“How many girls did you lure? How many found themselves swollen with your child? How many did you kill like my Aiko?” 

The weight of Baku’s knee pressed harder against him and Mugen drew in a sharp breath. Baku was familiar with this cruel torture and he put enough weight on Mugen to make him squirm, but not enough to harm him permanently. 

Mugen bit his lip until he tasted blood, holding back the whimper that threatened to give him away. He knew what Baku wanted. He wanted him to beg. For mercy, for life, for repentance. 

But Mugen wasn’t going to beg forgiveness for a crime that wasn’t his. And even if it was, he wouldn’t confess to a man who committed worse without batting an eye. Torture him all he liked, Mugen’s conscious was clear. Aiko came with him because she wanted to. Died by his side while he wept.  _ Wept.  _ The last time he’d let tears fall willingly. In that moment he would have traded anything -- anything to bring her back, but the gods had not relented.

Had he loved Aiko? There was a part of him that did. And a part of him that realized they’d clung to each other to fulfill a desperate need when there was no other. Aiko was his first. And the one he thought of with every whore he’d laid since. Until the day that another girl slipped into his life like a warm, heady sip of sake. A girl with brown hair and a pink kimono. A girl with a squirrel in her bodice and no assets. A girl --

The pressure between his legs relaxed, gave Mugen a second to breathe. “Did you cry for her?” Baku asked quietly. One of Mugen’s hands was freed as Baku slid a finger under the scarf around Mugen’s eyes and slid it up to his forehead. A finger traced his right eyebrow, cheekbone, then Baku pried open his right eye. Mugen winced as light and color struck him in a blinding, brilliant flash. Baku was an indistinct blur, dark against the searing light of the candles in the room. Tears immediately welled in his eye, blurring everything further. His eye stung, the bruised skin around it throbbed. “Cry for her, bastard. Weep. Will you ask for forgiveness today?” Baku asked.

Mugen heard the  _ snick  _ of the little blade Baku wore around his neck. A woman’s blade. Aiko’s perhaps. Mugen knew what came next and yet his mouth wouldn’t form the words Baku wanted. Because much as Baku thought he’d broken him, there was still pride in Mugen. Pride in his innocence in this one crime. 

Mugen spat. “I’ve told you no a thousand times, swine. If you think I’m going to beg for your forgiveness now, you’re dumber than you look,” Mugen snarled, proud that his voice didn’t tremble. That venom dripped from each and every word. 

The snarl of rage told him his words had their intended effect. Baku’s weight shifted, his knee coming down on Mugen’s free hand this time, pinning him again, more of Baku’s weight resting on Mugen’s torso. Mugen heard the hiss of the knife through the air, knew what came next, turned his face away --

“Master!” a voice interrupted. Mugen recognized the voice of one of Baku’s personal servants.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Baku roared. Mugen heard the thud of the blade ramming into the floor beside his head. He flinched. 

“Yes, Master,” Mugen imagined the servant bowing and scraping, forehead to the rough wood floor. “But Takuo has a man here to see you, sir. A man who’s come to challenge the Weeping Warrior.” 

There was a moment of dead silence. Mugen could feel the tension of Baku’s body as he jerked the knife from the floor. Mugen’s own body bowed in anticipation of the blade. 

Baku’s weight shifted, the big man leaning over until his face was inches from Mugen’s. “I’ll deal with you later,” Baku hissed in his ear as he replaced the scarf over Mugen’s eyes. Then there was another shift and Baku’s weight left him, his arms free again. 

Mugen rolled, instinctively curling around himself, bringing knees up to protect his stomach, arms down to cover his ribs, head tucked in. But the kick he expected never came. 

“A challenger, you say?” Baku asked slowly, voice dripping false honey. “And you interrupt me for this?” 

“My lord, have mercy,” the servant said. Mugen could hear the cringe in his voice. “Takuo said you’d want to know about this one.” 

“Well, who is it?” Baku demanded when the servant didn’t continue. 

“It’s the samurai from last night, sir. The one old Rauru warned us about.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

Mugen felt a cold lump slide into his belly.  _ Samurai. Jin.  _ It had to be. 

“Sakiko!” Baku called. 

There was the soft patter of bare feet on the wooden floor, the swish of a curtained doorway opening. 

“Yes, my lord?” her voice was quiet, as always. 

“Take him out of here,” Baku said. 

A moment later, Mugen felt a gentle hand at his shoulder and Sakiko urged him to his feet. She kept one hand at his elbow, to guide him out of the room, but Mugen was glad of the support she offered as he followed her through the curtain and into another room. 

Mugen’s mind whirled. Jin was going to challenge him in the arena. That meant one of two things. Either Jin had been caught in Baku’s web too, or he was walking himself into a trap. 

“Show him in,” he heard Baku say from behind the curtain. 


	5. Chapter Four

Jin followed Takuo through the halls of a grand house built at the head of town, not too far from the auction square. The house was a sprawling affair, with arches and porches leading to courtyards with streams and artfully arranged sand gardens. Considering they were underground, it was almost pretty. Takuo took him into the house through an entrance off one of the sand gardens, then led him upstairs and down a hall lined with rooms, their sliding paper doors all closed. Even though candles burned in each room, Jin heard nothing behind the closed doors, saw no shadows moving across the candle flames. Takuo took him to a waiting room at the end of the hall and beckoned an older man with a long grey braid over to him. He whispered something in the man’s ear. The man’s eyes widened in a moment of fear, but then he nodded and disappeared through a door on the other side of the waiting room. 

Jin stood with Takuo in the waiting room. He heard a strangled, angry yell and then the old man cried out, “Master!” 

The voices were indistinct -- the walls were wooden here -- but from what Jin could tell, the old man had interrupted someone in a task of great importance. Or great passion. There was some yelling. Some plaintive words on the old man’s part, and then quiet voices that Jin couldn’t make out. Instead, he watched Takuo to see what his reaction would be, but the man was as borish and empty as ever. Jin rolled his eyes, but kept one hand on the hilts of his swords. 

A few minutes later, the old man returned and beckoned for Takuo and Jin to step into the room. Jin followed Takuo into a lavish receiving room, with curtained doorways leading off of the far wall into other rooms. A large throne-like chair sat against one wall, on a dais raised by two steps from the floor. A red carpet covered the floor in the center of the room, in front of the throne. There was a long table along the wall to the left of the throne, with benches running its length. The table was laden with food, dishes of rice and fish and greens, bottles of sake, steaming teapots and plump dumplings, as if the master of the house was prepared for a feast. Candles lit the room, interspersed with scented braziers of incense and several piles of cushions, all unoccupied. But it was the man in the room that arrested Jin’s attention. 

He was a large man, middle-aged, balding, with a muscular frame that was beginning to show signs of a decadent lifestyle. The broad girth of his stomach pressed against his flowing robes, but the man still exuded a sense of power, accented by the gold necklace and gem-studded rings he wore. Jin had no doubt that he was stronger than he let on and would be  a formidable physical opponent.

The man smiled, an ugly smile, though Jin suspected he meant it to be welcoming. 

“They were right, you are a pretty samurai,” he said, letting his eyes rake Jin like a man choosing a whore at a brothel. Jin chose to ignore the comment and the incorrect title.

“You must be Baku,” Jin said, meeting Baku’s eye and holding it until the big man glanced away. Baku met Takuo’s eyes, then flickered back to Jin’s. 

“I am indeed,” Baku spread his arms and bowed, a grand gesture, flaunting the rich threads in his robes and the flashing gold on his fingers. 

Jin inclined his head. 

“And your name?” Baku asked. 

“Jin.” 

Baku stood with hands on hips as if waiting for more. “Just Jin?” he finally asked when Jin remained silent. 

Jin nodded. 

Baku chuckled. “Humble to a fault. You really are a samurai.” 

Jin shrugged. He had to remind himself again not to correct the man. After all, it was the lie he’d let Takuo spread and he didn’t figure arguing the finer points of a warrior’s honor with Baku would get him anywhere anyway.

Baku gestured at the table of food. “Come, sit and enjoy a meal. Takuo, you are dismissed. Neki can show the samurai out when we are done.” 

Takuo bowed and left the room. 

Jin followed Baku to the table and took a seat on one of the long benches. Baku settled across from him and offered him a plate of dumplings. Jin thought about refusing the food, but he hadn't eaten today and he didn’t figure there was any harm in eating Baku’s food. He took a helping of dumplings and loaded his plate from the other dishes when Baku gestured to include them as well. 

“So, what brings a samurai like you to my glorious Night Market?” Baku asked. 

“I’m looking for a man to keep my blades,” Jin said. 

Baku smiled again, that slow, ugly smile. “Then surely my auctions would suit you better than my fights?” 

“The man I have my eye set on was on the auction block last night, but your men told me he wasn’t for sale.” 

“Oh?” Baku raised an eyebrow like he didn’t know who Jin was talking about, though Jin was certain it was an act. 

“Yes. I believe your men called him The Weeping Warrior,” Jin said, like the name meant nothing to him. 

Baku stiffened. A near imperceptible tic twitched at the corner of his mouth. 

“My champion,” Baku said. “He’s not for sale.” 

Jin nodded. “Right, I’m not proposing I buy him. I have...something else in mind. But first, tell me how your arena works.”

Baku narrowed his eyes, but he explained, “It’s simple. I host a champion under my roof -- feed him, clothe him, house him -- he lives like a king.” 

Jin resisted the urge to snort. Mugen certainly didn’t look like a king last night. 

“In return, that champion fights for my honor in the arena. Any man who owes me a debt can challenge the champion to try and get their debt forgiven.” 

“And they’re forgiven if they kill your champion?” Jin guessed.

“Now, now, master samurai, I’m not a violent man,” Baku waved a jeweled hand. “I don’t host deathmatches, just fights.” 

“Just fights?” Jin asked. He had to hide the sneer of derision that threatened to twist his lips. 

“Just fights,” Baku agreed. “The men fight until one of them begs for mercy. Of course, if the challenger begs for mercy, then they owe me double their original debt, so some men do choose to fight to the death instead.” 

Jin suppressed a shudder. He couldn’t imagine running himself willingly into death to avoid a debt. What sort of racket was Baku running here?

“And if your champion begs for mercy?” Jin asks.

“Then the man who beat him walks away with a clean slate.”

“And your champion?” Jin asked. “What happens to him if he loses and doesn't ask for mercy?” 

“Then he dies,” Baku shrugged. “But I select my Champions carefully. To a man, I’ve never had one beg for mercy.” 

“But you have had Champions die,” Jin said. It wasn’t a question.

“Naturally.” 

Jin could tell if Baku meant his Champions had died of natural causes or if he meant it was natural for some of his Champions to have died in the ring. “And if a man does kill your Champion?” Jin asked. 

“Then he becomes my new Champion. Or pays the Champion’s blood price so I can purchase a new Champion. Though I’ve only ever had one man do that.”

“Pay the blood price?” 

Baku nodded. “Most men challenging my Champion don’t have the ryo to buy their next meal. They’re desperate. That’s why they choose to fight instead. But I did have one nobleman’s son who fought purely for honor’s sake. He wanted to kill my Champion and be done with it. So I allowed it because I knew his coin was good for it.” 

Jin stared at the rice on his plate for a moment. He wasn’t sure if what Baku was telling him was true or not, but either way, it was a carefully crafted story. Baku wanted Jin to offer a blood price.

Jin looked up. “Would you consider allowing a blood price a second time?” 

“I might,” Baku said. “Why?” 

“I want the right to win your champion out of your service,” Jin said. The words tasted sour in his mouth, but he knew he wouldn’t convince Baku from any sort of moral standpoint. If he was going to win Mugen out of this, he had to play as dirty as his opponent. And he needed to do it quickly if Mugen’s condition was any indication.

Baku’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I agree to that?” 

Jin leaned one arm on the table, fingers tracing the rim of the goblet in front of him. “Your champion is failing, Baku,” he said. 

Baku scowled, but he didn’t interrupt. 

“I saw him perform last night. It was a pretty trick,” Jin met Baku’s eye. “But he can’t keep doing that forever. You’ve nearly worn him down. If you intended him to be a real champion, you wouldn’t press him so hard. So I’m guessing his debt to you is in blood, not money. You want him to die.” 

Again, the tic at Baku’s mouth. Jin allowed himself a smile. 

“You aren’t the only one he’s wronged, Baku,” Jin continued. “I want your champion out so he can pay his debt to me. He owes me a life debt, but if he dies in your arena then I can't collect.” 

“You’re offering to pay me for the rights of revenge?” 

Jin nodded once, slowly. What a petty thing to pay for. “I’m asking you to let me fight your Champion for the right. If he dies, then I pay you blood price. If he beats me, then no harm done, right?” 

“You’d risk your life to win a pirate out of my hands?” Baku asked. 

“No,” Jin shook his head. “There’s no risk. He won’t win.” 

“You seem sure,” Baku said. 

“I’ve fought him before,” Jin said. 

Baku was silent for a long moment. “You’re a cocky bastard,” he finally said. “And I rather like a good wager. But I’ve got to make sure you really are all in. You understand, don’t you?” 

“I’m listening.” 

Baku spread his hands on the table. “You’re right in guessing that my Champion can’t hold out much longer. But I find I’ve rather come to like his...company.” The ugly smile was back. “So, I’ll allow a blood price for you, samurai, on two conditions.” 

“Yes?” Jin asked. 

“One,” Baku held up a finger. “If you win, you can kill him or take him, but you pay the blood price for him either way.” 

“And the other?” 

“If you lose, you take his place as my Champion _and_ you take on his debt to me. What say you to that?” 

The food on the table suddenly tasted like ash in Jin’s mouth, but he forced himself to swallow. Whatever Mugen’s debt to Baku was, it was monumental to garner the treatment Baku had been giving Mugen. If Jin lost, he’d be subjected to the same humiliation and torture Mugen was under. And even if he won, then he’d owe Mugen’s blood price -- an amount Jin was certain he couldn’t pay. Losing wasn’t an option. But in this case, neither was winning. He’d just have to improvise. Jin squared his shoulders and looked Baku in the eye. “I say, let’s fight,” Jin said. 

Baku laughed.

* * *

“Stop,” Mugen murmured. “I want to listen.” 

Sakiko paused. “You know what father will do if he catches us eavesdropping!” she hissed, mouth so close to his ear that he felt more than heard her speak. The two of them had become masters of speaking so as not to be overheard. 

“I know,” Mugen said, mouth a grim line. His hand strayed unconsciously to his stomach, where he could feel the bruise of Baku’s fingertips splayed across his torso. He felt Sakiko shift beside him, look him over. 

“You can’t keep taking this abuse, Mugen,” she said. 

Mugen grunted. 

“C’mon,” she tugged at his elbow. “Let me see to those bruises.” 

He grimaced. So, they were visible. He felt the anger and shame rise in his cheeks. He never knew whether Baku marked him for others to see or not -- until Sakiko became his eyes. Became the master of hiding bruises he didn’t receive in the ring. But he resisted her tug. “No, I need to listen. It’s Jin,” he said, as if that explained everything. 

He heard the sigh, imagined Sakiko rolling her eyes, even though he had no idea what her eyes looked like. What she looked like. He’d never seen her. Only felt her. She was gentle and melancholy and steady. In fact, she felt something like Jin. 

_Felt like Jin. You don’t know what Jin feels like, you fool._

Mugen shook his head. 

Sakiko touched his arm, her way of asking if he was alright. He nodded, but she hovered a little closer than necessary as they stood with baited breath behind the curtain and listened to Baku and Jin talk. The conversation was short, rapid-fire questions and carefully baited answers. Politics. Conversation Mugen never had the patience for. 

There was an odd tone to Jin’s voice. Hollow. Distant. Like he was playing a role he didn’t like. Baku wouldn't notice it, but Mugen had become adept at listening to more than just words in the last few months and he could practically feel Jin’s skin crawl as he bargained with Baku. Bargained for a life that wasn’t even his. Why was Jin here? What made him come back now? He’d said Fuu sent him, but if that was the case, what made Fuu suddenly think of him, three years after the crossroads. Did she want him to come back? Or was she just feeling nostalgic? 

Jin said she ran a tea house now. Did she just think the three of them were going to sip tea in a garden somewhere and chat about their past? Or was there something more there? The one thing Mugen had wanted to tell her but never did? 

Mugen felt tears sting his eyes again. He didn’t know if they were real tears or tears of reflex. 

Sakiko tapped his arm. 

This time he nodded and let her lead him away.


	6. Chapter Five

Baku told him they would fight at the end of the week and gave Jin a room in his mansion and the run of the house. Jin soon discovered that “run of the house” was a misleading term. Baku didn’t seem to care if Jin explored the gardens, or the kitchens, or his rather extensive library. He could even wander the other rooms on the hall, which were mostly empty, but if he attempted to go anywhere else in the house he was met with resistance. No one outright told him he couldn’t go into the closed areas of the house, but there was always a convenient servant or bodyguard at hand to suggest that he take his leisure elsewhere. It was obvious Baku was hiding something. And at least one of those things was Mugen. Jin needed to make friends with someone who had access to the house.

Problem was, it seemed that only Baku and Neki had full access to the house. Baku certainly wasn’t going to tell him any secrets. Neki was no good either. The old man was afraid of Baku and Jin knew that fear would seal his tongue more effectively than loyalty. That left one other option -- the young woman. 

Jin had seen her once or twice, and only at a distance, but she seemed to wander the house as she pleased, entering the forbidden rooms as easily as Baku himself. No one stopped her and the servants seemed to defer to her. She was too young -- heaven forbid -- to be Baku’s wife, but perhaps she was some sort of mistress. She carried herself with a quiet dignity that was in opposition to most of Baku’s household, who seemed to be made up of hired thugs and loose women. If Jin was going to find out about Mugen, he figured the young woman was his best bet. 

The only problem was that anytime he looked for her, he could never find her and anytime he saw her, she disappeared before he could reach her. Almost as if she were avoiding him. But that was ridiculous, Jin shook his head. She didn’t even know who he was.

As the week wore on, Jin spent his days reading, meditating or training by himself. Meals were delivered to his room in the morning and early afternoon, and most evenings he was invited to Baku’s table, to dine with his lieutenants. Jin soon discovered that Baku ran a vast pirate network and at any given time was hosting at least one pirate crew in his hidden cove. The rooms on Jin’s hall filled with Captains and ship’s officers as they docked in the cove, only to empty just as quickly as they sailed with the tide. It appeared that Baku demanded some sort of tribute from the pirates who worked in his circle and they seemed to be shipping some sort of cargo for him for which he paid them handsomely. 

But still no sign of Mugen. 

Jin also wandered down into the town and asked around. He watched another auction to see if Mugen performed again, but as far as Jin could tell, they didn’t even bring him to the auction this time. Baku was deliberately keeping Mugen out of sight. Jin wasn’t sure what that meant. He did know, however, that it didn’t leave him any chance to communicate with Mugen.

* * *

The day before the fight, Baku summoned Jin to his rooms for what Neki indicated would be a big dinner with some very important guests. Jin washed and tidied up and made sure he was waiting and ready when Neki returned to his room around six o’clock to escort him to dinner. Instead, Neki escorted him to an empty dining room and instructed Jin to make himself comfortable and wait on Baku, who was finishing important business. After making sure Jin was aware of the fine selection of alcohol in the room, Neki disappeared. 

Jin stood in the middle of the room, facing the empty throne, listening. He was alone. There was no sign of Baku or any of his lieutenants or pirate captains. Jin didn’t even hear any movement behind the curtains tonight. He’d come to find that Baku’s living quarters were back there, and there was often the soft murmur of voices or footsteps from the various servants and mistresses Baku kept. But tonight, all was quiet. Jin knew this was no coincidence. This was a test of some sort. 

The only problem was, Jin didn’t know how to pass. He investigated the room as discreetly as he could, but didn’t find anything out of place and no obvious indication of anyone watching him or spying on him. He resisted the urge to look behind the curtains, knowing that Baku would likely expect him to do that if he were left to his own devices. After all, he’d been reminded on more than one occasion that those rooms were Baku’s personal chambers and strictly “off-limits.” With a sigh, Jin decided to make the most of his time waiting. He poured himself a glass of sake and settled into the cushions in one corner of the room, going over his rescue plans in his head. 

About half an hour later, Jin was reclined on one elbow, idly tracing the patterns on the pillow in front of him with one slender finger, eyes half-closed. He was sipping his second glass of sake and contemplating sleep when he heard a noise at one of the curtained doorways. He looked up languidly as the curtain slid back and the young woman glided through, wearing a loose kimono with nothing underneath. Her long black hair was down, framing her face in silken waves and falling to the middle of her back. She walked over to the trestle table where she proceeded to lay out place settings, her back to Jin. 

Jin watched her move around the table, catching a glimpse of her slender leg as the slit in her kimono fluttered with her movements. She hummed softly to herself, as if she didn’t know Jin was there, but her movements were too concentrated, too deliberate to be accidental. She was another part of the test. Jin stayed still and quiet, waiting to see what she would do. She finished with one side of the table and turned to walk to the other side when she finally looked up and met Jin’s eyes with a gasp. 

“Oh, master samurai! I didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her painted lips. 

Jin took a slow sip of sake. “Let’s not lie to each other,” he said softly. 

Her eyes widened fractionally, the only indication that he’d surprised her. She nodded. “Alright then,” she agreed. “Let’s not lie.” She picked up a bottle of sake and a second cup and walked over to join Jin on the cushions. Her movements were less revealing now, more natural and less deliberate. Jin stayed where he was as she settled across from him, legs folded gracefully beneath her. She poured herself a cup of sake and set the bottle nearby. 

“Who are you?” Jin asked. 

She looked at him over the rim of her cup, taking a long sip before answering. “I might ask the same of you,” she said. 

“I’m sure you know who I am,” Jin said. “My name is Jin. I am the man who came to challenge the Weeping Warrior.” 

The woman sighed. Jin had given her nothing she didn’t already know. “I am Sakiko.” She paused for a long moment, watching Jin carefully. “Baku’s daughter,” she finally said. 

Jin had to work to keep the expression of surprise from flitting across his face. He wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded because Sakiko pursed her lips, as if what she saw in him disappointed her. 

“Did he send you to catch me off guard?” Jin asked, holding her gaze until she looked away. 

“It doesn’t appear that I surprised you much.” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jin said. “You’re beautiful. But I’m not a fool.” 

A slight blush rose to her cheeks. 

Jin reached over and picked up the sake bottle, topping off his glass. “Is anyone listening?” he murmured, lips barely moving. 

She shook her head. “Not if we speak quietly.”

“Watching?” Jin asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “From above the throne.” 

Jin let his eyes stray across the room for a moment. 

“The painted mirror,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said. “I told him you were too smart for this.” 

“Who, your father?” 

Sakiko sighed and nodded. 

“Does he send you to do this often?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does it work?” 

“When the men are dogs,” she said tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, reaching out and brushing her hand. She looked up, surprised, and took a sip of her drink to cover it. 

“What do you want to know, samurai?” she asked. 

Jin raised an eyebrow. 

“I have no love for my father,” Sakiko said, leaning on one arm. “You’ve come for the Weeping Warrior haven’t you?” 

Jin paused, unsure how to answer. Was this the test? Was everything before just an act to put him at ease? 

“He speaks of you often, you know,” Sakiko said.

“Mugen?” Jin asked, the name out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

Sakiko nodded. “You put hope back in him.” 

“Where is he?” 

Sakiko shook her head, but her eyes cut to the curtained doorway she’d come from earlier. 

“Is he listening?” Jin asked. 

“Probably,” Sakiko said. 

Jin paused. Where to begin? There were so many things he wanted to ask about Mugen. How long had he been here? How did he get here? Why did Baku hate him so much? And why was Baku torturing him? But those things could wait. 

“Can you get a message to him?” Jin asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Tell him,” Jin said, looking straight at the curtain. He thought he could just make out a shadow shifting behind it, but he couldn’t be sure. “Tell him that when we fight, he has to die.” He met Sakiko’s eye. She gasped. 

“I can’t say that!” she said. “It’ll kill him. He told me you were here to get him out!” 

“I am,” Jin said earnestly. “But I can't get him out alive. I need Baku to think he's dead. Which means we need to make it look like I kill him in our fight.” 

“He won’t like that,” Sakiko said softly, lips forming a little pout. 

Jin couldn’t help but smile. “No, he won’t. He hates losing.” 

Sakiko indicated the cushions beside Jin and he nodded. She stretched out beside him, facing him. 

“You seem to know him well,” Jin murmured. 

“A little,” Sakiko admitted. “I...take care of him...in between fights.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It slipped loose and Jin reached up and tucked it back again for her. She smiled shyly at him. “Especially since he can’t see.” 

“Is he blind?” Jin asked. 

Sakiko looked down, swirling the sake in her cup. “Permanently? I don’t know. Father--” she cut herself off and bit her lip. “Mugen can’t open his eyes right now, Jin. Not on his own. Father cut the muscles in his eyelids.” 

Jin shuddered at the thought. “Why?” 

“He wants him to suffer. And he...liked the novelty of it in the ring.” 

“Bastard,” Jin swore. Then, “Sorry. He is your father.” He watched Sakiko’s reaction carefully. 

“Not by choice,” she said softly. 

“What about your mother?” Jin asked. 

“Dead,” Sakiko said it without emotion. Either she’d been too young to remember her mother properly or she’d blocked the memories. “She was never father’s favorite. And she spilled wine on his robes one day. He hit her. Too hard. Or so I was told.” Too young then, Jin decided. 

“And you? Why stay here?” 

“You think he’d let me leave?” she asked. “It’s like Mugen. And now you, Jin.” There were traces of tears at the corners of Sakiko’s eyes when she looked back up at him. “No one leaves this place. We’re all prisoners here.” 

“Not me. I came by choice. And I’ll leave by choice with Mugen. What about you?” 

“You think I haven’t been offered this chance a hundred times before, samurai?” Sakiko hissed, frowning. She stiffened, her grip on her wine glass white-knuckled. 

“I’m sure you have. By all the dogs your father sicked you on. And I’m sure you reported back to him like the dutiful daughter you are and he probably had them killed. Tell him what you like, Sakiko. Let him send his men after me. Or come himself. Tell him that I’m not afraid of him. Or help me. Help Mugen. It’s your choice.” Jin’s voice was level, calm, as always, but there was a part of him that balked at his bold words. A part that realized if Baku could bring the entire Night Market against him, he’d hardly stand a chance. There was a part of him that acknowledged his recklessness. And a part of him that reveled in it. 

Is this how Mugen felt when he rushed headlong into trouble? Or was it only the sake talking? In the moment, Jin didn’t care. It felt good. It was warm and steady and he was unstoppable. 

“You would really get me out of here,” Sakiko said, eyes meeting his. 

Jin nodded, once. 

The tears slid down her cheeks. “I believe you,” she whispered. “Get me out.” 

Jin tucked another strand of hair behind her ear. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

She suddenly leaned forward and buried her face in Jin’s shoulder. It caught him off guard, but he slid his sake glass out of the way and put an arm around her, drawing her close. He felt her warm tears soak his sleeve as he rolled onto his back, letting her lay on his chest. 

Jin sighed, looking up at the ceiling overhead. If only Fuu had known what her simple request would get him into.

* * *

Sometime later, Jin awoke to another presence in the room. He lay still for a while, eyes closed, listening. Sakiko was curled against his side, asleep. His left arm was around her shoulders. When it had been apparent that Baku had no intentions of hosting his alleged dinner, Jin and Sakiko spent the evening talking and drinking Baku’s sake. Eventually, Sakiko had fallen asleep in the hollow of Jin’s shoulder and he hadn’t the heart to wake her. As the night wore on, he’d felt his own eyelids drooping and he must have dozed off too. 

The room was dark, that much he could tell even with his eyes closed. Darker than when he’d fallen asleep. He cracked his eyes open, peering out beneath his lashes, but all the candles in the room were out, casting everything into shadow blacker than night. Jin let his right hand fall to the hilts of his swords, laying on the cushions beside him. 

He heard the shift of the floorboards as someone moved in the room. Someone well familiar with the room. Or well familiar with moving in the dark. Mugen? No, the footsteps were too heavy, too slow. 

“Baku,” Jin said just as a small candle flared to life and revealed the hulking figure of none other than Jin’s host. 

“There never was a dinner, was there?” Jin asked. 

Baku didn’t answer immediately and in the flickering candlelight it was hard to tell, but Jin thought he saw an expression of surprise flick across the big man’s features. “No,” he finally said. “But I see you enjoyed yourself anyway.” He sounded displeased. 

“You ought to know. You provided the entertainment.”

Baku gave him a nod, a slight incline of the head that told Jin he’d scored a point. 

“I believe it’s time you went to your own room, samurai,” Baku said. 

“Of course.” Jin made a show of gently waking Sakiko and kissing her forehead before standing up and slipping out of the room. Let Baku think he was smitten. 

Jin went back to his own room, but he didn’t sleep. He sat cross-legged in the center of the room, meditating. Listening. For the footsteps that would mean Sakiko had betrayed him. 


	7. Chapter Six

Mugen stood in the chute that led into the arena and took a deep breath. He could hear the stands filling up above him, the stomp and shuffle of feet, the tremor of voices as the crowds gathered to watch the fight. He could smell the dirt of the arena, the sharp tang of sweat. He could feel the hot rush of adrenaline in his veins. Everything was a million times louder, a million times sharper. 

And then he felt a touch on his shoulder, gentle. Sakiko. 

“Mugen, it’s time to get ready.” 

“I am ready,” he said. He didn’t turn to face her. “I was born ready.” 

He heard Sakiko sigh. 

“C’mon, Mugen, you know what I mean. Take off your shirt,” she said. 

Mugen smirked. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that was a proposition. Sweetheart,” he said, turning suddenly and reaching out a hand to grab Sakiko by the waist. He felt the rich cloth of his fighting tunic flutter to the floor as she gasped. He spun her up against the wall, his hands pinning her on either side of her shoulders. He could feel her breath, hot and fast against his neck.

“Mugen!” She stood stiff in the circle of his arms. “What are you doing?” 

“Whatever you want me to,” he said, bending his head toward her ear. His chin brushed the soft skin of her cheek.

“Are you drunk?” Sakiko hissed, something between fear and ire in her voice, though she hid it well. If Mugen hadn’t become so attuned to tone of voice, he’d never have caught it. 

Mugen laughed. “No,” he said as he stepped back. “Just answering a question.”

He could almost feel Sakiko knit her brows. “What question?”  

“You smell like him,” Mugen said. 

“What?” Sakiko asked, startled. 

Mugen smirked. 

“I-I don’t smell like anyone, Mugen. Now take your shirt off so I can get you ready.” Her voice came from the floor, where Mugen imagined she bent to retrieve his fighting tunic.

“You could do a lot worse, you know,” Mugen said, but he made no move to remove his filthy jacket and shirt.

“What are you talking about?” Sakiko asked, voice tight. 

“He treated you like a gentleman, didn’t he?” Mugen asked. 

“Who are you talking about?” Sakiko demanded. Mugen knew it was a ruse. 

“Jin,” he said haughtily. 

“Of course he treated me like a gentleman, Mugen,” Sakiko said, voice low. “He’s a samurai. I imagine he treats everyone like that.” 

“You haven’t seen him angry,” Mugen taunted. 

“Why does that matter?” there was a scuff of dirt and Mugen imagined Sakiko stomping her foot in frustration.

“Because you’re in love,” Mugen said, matter-of-factly, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I am not!” 

Mugen felt a punch on his arm. “Hey! Ow!”

“That didn’t hurt,” Sakiko sulked. 

“No,” Mugen admitted. “But it proved my point.” 

Sakiko didn’t say anything. 

Mugen sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he muttered. “But Jin’s an...ok guy, you know. He won’t hurt you. And he won’t make you a promise he doesn’t intend to keep. You’d...do well with him.” The words didn’t come out smooth. Mugen wasn’t used to giving compliments.

_ Good thing I’m not living long enough to live this one down. _

“Why are you telling me this, Mugen?” Sakiko sounded curious now. 

“I just…” Mugen paused. Why the hell  _ was _ he telling Sakiko this? Because...because he realized he trusted her. He shared a bond with her that went deeper than appearances. Because he’d reached a point of vulnerability with this girl he couldn't see that he’d never reached with anyone in his entire life. She’d seen him at his weakest and yet, she’d never based her interactions with him on pity or spite. She was genuine. And there was something in Mugen that was drawn to that because it was so opposite of himself. But it was so like Jin. “Because I think you deserve a chance,” he finally said, the words sticking in his throat. 

“I deserve a chance? What about you?” Sakiko asked. He felt her cool hand on his face. 

He almost flinched from her touch. It took an effort of will to stand still and accept her gesture. He knew she meant no harm by it. 

“Me? I’ve had my chance. Many times.” He turned his face into her hand, away from her.

“Then is this not just one more time?” Sakiko asked. 

“No, not this time,” Mugen said softly. He reached up and pulled her hand away from his face, holding it in his.

“Why?” Sakiko breathed. 

“There’s only one way out of here for me. I heard Jin.” Mugen said it without flinching, without betraying the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. He hardly realized he’d gripped Sakiko’s hand tighter.

“Mugen! You know that’s not what he meant!” Sakiko said forcefully. 

“I only have your word for it.” 

“And you don’t believe me?” her voice was low, the words tight through clenched teeth. “After all these months. After all the times I nursed you back to health and covered your bruises and begged Father not to kill you. After all that, you don’t believe me?” 

Mugen took a deep breath, face still turned away, because what he was about to say was a lie, but he had to make himself believe it. Because it was easier this way. Because if he died tonight, then at least it would be all he expected.

“No. I don’t,” he said gruffly.

He heard her gasp, something almost like a sob. He turned his face toward her again, for once in his life feeling guilty for his lie.

“I can’t, Sakiko. I won’t let myself hope,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. 

He felt the tears soak the scarf around his eyes, felt them run from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Mugen, are you crying?” Sakiko asked softly. She cupped his face in her hands and brushed the tears away with her thumbs.

“No,” he denied. 

But this time he knew. The tears were real.

* * *

Takuo led Jin to a doorway in the outer wall of the arena and gestured for him to go inside. Jin gave him a level look, then opened the door and walked in. Takuo shut the door behind him and Jin heard the click of a lock falling into place. He turned and tested the door. It didn’t budge. Of course. That was only to be expected. Men fighting Baku’s champion weren’t allowed to get cold feet and back out. They either won or they lost, lived or died, and owed their lives to Baku from here on out.

Jin took a deep breath and looked around. The room he stood in was long and narrow, like a hallway, and ended in a wooden gate that opened up into an arena. The gate was made of interlaced wooden slats over paper painted with designs of warriors in battle. Jin couldn’t see through the paper, but he could hear the crowds on the other side and overhead. The small hallway wasn’t furnished, instead, there was a rack of swords and other weapons on the wall beside him.

It looked like Mugen’s opponents were allowed to choose whatever weapon they wanted to fight him. Jin winced as he caught sight of a whip and a flail. While most of the weapons were traditional, swords or kunai, there were several that were obviously designed for more torturous purposes. Jin scowled.

What did Mugen owe Baku? Obviously something pretty personal for Baku to treat him like this. Had Mugen stolen from him? Injured him? Killed someone close to him? Jin walked closer to the paper gate and stood still, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. He breathed in and out, rhythmic, slow. He could still smell Sakiko on his kimono. She’d snuck into his room last night after all -- but not to betray him. Intead, they talked until morning, scheming, laying plans for escape. Jin fingered the packet of herbs in his sleeve. Mixed with Mugen's blood on the end of his blade, they would form a paralysis so that Jin could convince Baku Mugen was dead. How Sakiko had known to mix the herbs, Jin hadn't asked, but he figured being daughter to a notorious pirate king probably had something to do with it. After that, the plan was a bit more complicated. To get Mugen out of the city, Jin would simply ask for his body as payment for the life debt, since Mugen couldn’t repay anything as a dead man any other way. And then, there was the matter of the blood price. Sakiko told him she had a plan, but he had to trust her. She knew a way to circumvent the blood price, but it would take some set up on her part and she hadn’t told Jin so that he couldn’t inadvertently give it away. Then, after the blood price was taken care of, they’d simply walk out of the Night Market and travel back to Edo. 

It was, as far as plans went, straightforward enough. 

But Jin couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach -- not least of which was because his plan relied almost entirely on the daughter of the very man they planned to deceive. One word to her father and he and Mugen were done for. She'd had plenty of opportunity to give him away already and she hadn't, but Jin didn't know if that meant she was playing him or she really did want to leave with him. She seemed genuine, and really, Jin didn't have a choice. He needed help to make his plan work and Sakiko was his best bet. She didn't seem to harbor any love for her father. He'd just have to hope that her desire for freedom was greater than her fear of Baku.

Jin shook his head and adjusted his ponytail. He had to put Sakiko and Baku out of mind. Because right now, Mugen was the most important thing. Jin had to make this look realistic. Injured or not, he'd have to fight Mugen. If he held back, Baku would notice. Jin had to focus.

He breathed in. 

This was just another battle.

He breathed out.

Just another opponent.

_ Don't think about the stakes, Jin. _

Because this time, the stakes were too high.

* * *

Mugen felt Baku before he heard his heavy footsteps in the chute. He heard Sakiko gasp, then a grunt and a thud against the wooden chute wall. He heard a whimper from Sakiko.

“Leave her alone, Baku,” Mugen snarled, arms crossed over his chest, mouth drawn into a scowl.  

“Remember your place, Champion,” Baku snarled. “I sent her down here to get you ready, not drool over you.”

“I was not--” Sakiko began angrily.

“Silence!” Baku roared “I’ll deal with you later. Get out.”

Sakiko paused.

“Go,” Mugen said, voice low.

He heard her footsteps retreat.

Then he felt the hands at his waist, grasping the edge of his shirt. Rough hands. Hands without patience. Mugen kept his arms crossed.

“I won’t wear your colors, old man,” Mugen snarled, lashing out and striking Baku’s arm. “Not today. Today I fight for myself.”

“Bold words for a Champion. You don't even own yourself, boy. You dance on my strings, whether you like it or not." 

"Not anymore," Mugen said.

Baku laughed. "You think that Samurai’s going to set you free, don't you?”

Mugen stayed silent.

“He’s only here to kill you,” Baku sneered.

“I know,” Mugen said calmly.

"Oh."

Mugen didn't like the cold, precise tone in that one word. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"I see," Baku said softly. "You've chosen the coward's way out. You want death, don't you? For you, it's an end. But do you think your death will atone for what you DID TO MY DAUGHTER?" At the last words, Baku slammed Mugen against the wall, one arm across his throat.

"No," Mugen hissed, pushing the words past the pressure of Baku's arm. "It's not atonement. It's...freedom." Mugen coughed.

Baku snarled in rage and slammed Mugen's head into the wall so hard Mugen saw stars.

"Is that the way you want it? Then so be it." Baku slammed Mugen's head into the wall again, then threw him to the floor. Mugen gasped as pain shot through his side. He felt something snap and struggled to take his next breath.

Baku was on him in a second, pinning Mugen with his greater weight. Mugen heard the slither of Baku's little blade sliding free of its sheath, then the rip of fabric as Baku slit his shirt. Mugen tried to resist and felt the bite of Baku's blade in his leg. He hissed in pain as blood dripped onto the floor beneath him.

“You won’t wear my colors?” Baku asked. He dragged the knife farther down Mugen's right leg, twisting, tearing flesh and muscle. Mugen grit his teeth against the pain, clenching his jaw against the scream that threatened to leave his throat. Baku laughed and pulled the knife out of Mugen's leg. Mugen growled, the sound ripping his throat but at least it wasn't a scream. Then Mugen felt Baku’s knife trace the edge of his face. He held still, his breath coming in short gasps, body tense.

"Will you wear my colors?" Baku asked again.

“No,” Mugen said, voice hoarse.

Baku slipped the scarf from Mugen’s eyes. Mugen bit his lip as he felt the blade trace the skin by his eye, felt blood drip like tears down the side of his face. Everything in Mugen’s body screamed for him to fight, but he forced himself to stay still as pain scored his eyelids. If he moved now, he risked the knife sliding into his eye.

“Do you still say no?” Baku asked, almost gently. He took the knife away.

Mugen raised his head and spat.

Baku howled in rage.

Mugen couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his face. He’d hit his mark.

Then the knife descended into Mugen’s chest like a searing fire.  

This time, Mugen screamed.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the longer wait this chapter...it was hella hard to write. I don't know why, but this fight scene gave me fits. Also, the story is %100 running it's own plot now and taking a couple of directions I didn't expect. So hang on, friends, and we'll find out where this goes ;) Let me know what you think

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Nameless Samurai!” Takuo’s voice announced as the paper gate in front of Jin began to rise. 

_ Nameless Samurai.  _ Jin scowled. Even in the arena, Baku didn’t want him to overshadow Mugen. The use of stage names made Baku’s contestants virtually faceless, entities known only to the crowds as fighters, not people. It made bloodshed easier. Jin hated playing into Baku’s hand, but he didn’t see any other way to get Mugen out, so he took a deep breath and walked out into the arena. He was greeted with mixed shouts from the crowds, some jeering and some cheering. He ignored the jeers, letting them roll off his shoulders like water. It didn’t matter what a ragtag group of pirates thought of him. Jin didn’t plan on ever meeting any of them face to face again, so they could think what they wanted. 

Jin stopped in the middle of the arena, facing a large pagoda built on top of the Champion’s gate, which was painted with the silhouette of a warrior, silver tears falling from his eyes. The pagoda was built on two levels. The lower level contained a gong and a couple of men wearing red robes identical to Takuo’s. Jin recognized it at this point as the uniform of Baku’s officials. The top level was a viewing box, complete with a throne-like chair where Baku reclined with a wine goblet in hand. Benches covered in rich purple cloth surrounded the throne and some of Baku’s pirate lieutenants occupied the benches. To Baku’s left was Sakiko, her eyes locked on Jin in an expression that he couldn’t quite read. Something between guilt and worry and feigning disinterest, but he didn’t let his gaze linger on her long. 

Just then, Takuo stepped out of the officials on the lower platform and raised his hands for the crowd to quiet. “Ladies and Gentleman, I give you -- your Champion!” he shouted, gesturing at the gate below him. The gong rang out behind him and the paper gate on the Champion’s side rose to reveal a darkened chute with a darker shadow standing inside. 

Then Mugen stepped into the light. He wore no shirt or shoes and carried his characteristic sword this time, casually propped against his shoulder. He limped on his right leg, blood dripping from a tear in his shorts. Fresh blood stained the sky blue cloth wrapped around his eyes. But the worst of his injuries stood out starkly on his tan chest. Four characters, dripping blood, rent in flesh. And they spelled a name.  _ Baku. _

“Bastard!” Jin swore under his breath. 

His eyes flicked up to the booth above Mugen’s head. Baku smiled a slow, lazy smile and tipped his goblet toward Jin. Jin forced himself not to respond. A murmur ran around the stadium at the sight of Mugen. Jin wasn’t sure if it was because of the name on his chest or the fact that he was obviously injured, but Jin pushed it out of mind. He had to concentrate on this one. He had only one shot at this. 

Then the gong rang out again. The crowd grew quiet as if by magic. 

“Let the fight begin!” Takuo shouted.

* * *

Mugen didn’t give Jin a chance to react. He was on him as soon as the first notes of the gong sounded. From Jin’s surprised grunt and slow reaction time, Mugen guessed he didn’t even have his sword drawn. But Jin was practiced and fast and uninjured and he managed to draw and block Mugen’s sword before Mugen hit. Mugen felt the clash of steel on steel, that ringing feeling up his arm that let him know he didn’t hit flesh. The shouts of the crowd were mixed with yells of disappointment -- no first blood.

Mugen was moving again as soon as their swords touched, disengaging and backing away, circling in the dirt, feeling the vibrations with his feet. Only, he didn’t feel anything. 

_ Dammit, Jin.  _ Mugen took a moment to wipe a bloody palm on his pants.  _ Of course you’d know my tricks. _

Jin probably saw him fight that night on the auction block and maybe more times in the course of his search. Jin was observant. He would have worked out Mugen’s strengths and weaknesses by now. And he was exploiting them from the get go. Mugen smirked. 

“You’re not making this easy, Jin,” he said. 

“I do believe you’re the one who started this fight.”  

Mugen’s heart leapt into his chest as Jin’s voice came from behind him. How had he moved without Mugen feeling it? Mugen whirled as he heard the whisper of a blade through air and threw up a clumsy block. The impact of Jin’s sword shocked him up to his shoulder, but the blade didn’t cut him. He tried to slide his sword further up Jin’s to catch it between the spikes on his hilt, but Jin knew the trick and disengaged before Mugen could trap his blade. 

Mugen cursed his blindness. Cursed his clumsiness. He couldn't beat Jin with speed. Not like this. 

“You thought I’d go down without a fight?” Mugen leered. “You really are dumb.” 

He heard Jin’s long suffering sigh and lashed out, satisfied as he was met with the clang of steel. Mugen pressed his advantage until he and Jin were so close he could feel Jin’s hot breath on his face. 

“You baited me,” Jin grunted. 

“You don’t know all my tricks, samurai,” Mugen grinned. “If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. Let’s make this last fight a good one, yeah?” 

He could almost feel Jin’s calculating smile. “Fine by me,” he said. And then, voice so low Mugen felt it more than heard it. “I’m getting you out of here, Mugen. I swear it. But you’ve got to -- ”

“Die. I know, four-eyes. Enough talk!” Mugen shoved Jin back, hooking a foot behind his leg so that Jin tripped. From the thud Mugen heard, Jin fell hard. “Let’s fight!”

* * *

Jin tumbled gracelessly onto his back, breath leaving him in a whoosh. He turned the fall into a roll, cursing Mugen as he got back to his feet just in time to dodge a wide swing from Mugen’s blade. Jin lurched back as the blade passed within inches of his face, the wind from the swing catching stray strands of hair from his ponytail. He should have known Mugen wasn’t going down without a fight. 

Jin stepped back, giving himself enough space to adjust his glasses and catch his breath. Then again, Mugen wouldn’t be Mugen if he didn’t put up a fight. Even wounded and bleeding and blind, the bastard never gave up. Jin supposed he could find something admirable in that.

He dodged another swing of Mugen’s blade, dancing back a few steps, crouched low. Mugen knew how tall Jin was and most of his swings had been aimed toward Jin’s chest. If Jin could stay lower than Mugen expected, he’d be out of the way of the sword. He needed to stay low and quiet and still -- nearly impossible if he planned on actually fighting. 

And that was when Jin realized that he  _ didn’t _ actually plan on fighting. He lowered himself slowly to the ground, belly down, until he lay in the dust of the arena. All he needed Mugen to do was get closer.

* * *

_ Bastard.  _

Mugen scowled. Jin wasn’t moving. There were no vibrations under his feet, no sounds in his ear. There was no swish of a sword through air, no hiss of cloth on skin, no scuff of a sandal on dirt. Nothing. 

Jin was playing to his weakness. 

Mugen growled in frustration. He was supposed to lose this fight, he knew that. But he didn’t want to give it up easily. So what was Jin waiting for? Was he hoping Mugen might bleed enough to pass out? Mugen half-chuckled at the idea. It was entirely possible. He was already more unsteady on his feet than he liked. Blood dripped down his chest, mingled with sweat and dirt. His right leg shook when he put weight on it. He had precious few minutes left to get the upper hand. 

“I thought you samurai fought with honor!” Mugen shouted. 

No answer. 

_ Of course. He’s being all disciplined too. _

“Damn you, Jin!” Mugen shouted. 

He could hear the crowd roaring with a combination of laughter and outrage. For a moment, Mugen paused to listen. He’d never cared about the crowd before -- after all, they were only here to watch him kill or be killed. But now...now they were yelling for the Nameless Samurai to get up? 

Mugen smiled, a slow predatory grin. So Jin was lying on the ground then, was he? That could mean he was anywhere in the arena and it was a pretty big space. Mugen didn’t want to look like a fool, running around hacking at random and hoping he found him. Nor did he have the strength for that. But whatever else Jin was doing down there in the dirt, he had to breathe. 

Mugen shifted his feet on the course sand of the arena. Then he took off running, dragging his feet so that he kicked up as much dust as he could.

* * *

Jin watched as Mugen paused, straining every sense to find him. Jin smirked.  _ Not so clever now, are you, Mugen?  _

And then Jin heard the yells from the crowd and cursed the watching pirates as they began to yell for him to get up. He saw Mugen’s head tilt, a grin split his face, and knew he’d heard too. But there was no way Mugen could search the whole arena for him. He still had a chance as long as he stayed still. He couldn’t give himself away yet. 

Then Mugen pulled his scarf down over his nose and mouth, red-ruined eyes shimmering crimson in the torch light and took off running. 

_ What the hell? _

It only took a second for Jin to figure out what Mugen was doing. He was kicking up dust. And  _ laughing _ while he did it. Jin turned his head away as dust billowed up around him. He felt it tickle his nose and throat and knew he’d have to make a move sooner rather than later. Mugen was counting on the fact that if he stirred enough dust, Jin would have to cough. Jin took a shallow breath and watched Mugen make another pass across the arena. He was getting closer. Either Jin would give himself away or Mugen would trip on him. Either way, Mugen would find him. As Mugen’s foot hit the ground, Jin shifted so that he was in a crouch again, ready to spring. 

He suppressed a cough as Mugen got closer. 

Just as Mugen was about to pass him again, Jin threw himself at Mugen. Mugen went down with a shout of surprise, sword skittering away as he fell. Jin abandoned his long sword in favor of mobility, his short sword sheathed at his side. He landed heavily on top of Mugen, blood and dust staining his kimono as he struggled to keep Mugen down. 

Mugen twisted and thrashed like a wild animal, lashing out with hands, feet, teeth, grabbing and hitting any part of Jin he could reach. A swipe of his hand took Jin’s glasses off and they skittered away in the dirt. 

“Now we’re even four-eyes!”

Jin rolled his eyes even as he heard the crowds cheer louder. Many of them were on their feet, trying to get a better glimpse of what very quickly became a wrestling match. Mugen’s right hand shot out, grabbing the hilt of Jin’s short sword. Jin grabbed Mugen’s hand as he drew the blade, slashing Jin’s sleeve. 

“Give it up, Mugen!” Jin snarled as the short sword narrowly missed his face. 

“Never,” Mugen panted. 

Jin bore down on Mugen’s hand, shoving the sword away from himself and slamming Mugen’s wrist into the dirt. Mugen didn’t let go. Jin hated overpowering his friend like this, but he put a knee in Mugen’s chest, baring his weight down. 

Mugen howled. 

Jin slammed his wrist into the ground again. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled. 

“Well, you’re…” Mugen grunted “...doing a damn good job of it.” 

Jin slammed Mugen’s wrist into the ground once more. This time, something snapped and Mugen screamed, but Jin had the sword again. He thrust it at Mugen’s neck, pressing the point into his flesh. 

Mugen stilled, breathing heavy, uneven. Sweat and blood mingled on his face. 

“Give up yet?” Jin asked, pulling the scarf off Mugen’s face. 

Mugen panted, trying to draw enough breath to answer. 

“Stay down,” Jin said softly. “Stay down, but don’t call for mercy. I will get you out of here. I have a plan.” 

Mugen went limp underneath him. 

“Yeah. Alright,” he murmured. 

Jin read his lips more than heard him over the stomping and roaring of the crowds. They were yelling for Mugen’s death. Jin looked up at the faces above them. 

“Gut him!” 

“Cut off his head!” 

“Carve him to pieces, samurai!” 

Jin looked back down at Mugen. Jin shook his arm, letting the packet hidden in his sleeve drop down into his palm with the sword. 

“This might hurt,” he warned Mugen. 

Then he drew back his arm. 

“Jin!”

A woman’s shout from the pagoda made Jin look up sharply. Sakiko stood at the pagoda rail, one arm twisted behind her back, a knife at her throat, tears on her face. And behind her was Baku, knife in one hand and Sakiko in the other, a broad grin splitting his face. The wild shouts of the crowd quieted as everyone looked up at the new characters in this drama. 

“Let her go, Baku!” Jin shouted, instincts kicking in. 

“Then let my champion go!” Baku returned. 

“That wasn’t our deal!” 

“The rules have changed, Samurai. You see that name I carved on your friend?” 

Mugen sucked in a harsh breath as Jin shifted and looked down at the bloodied characters on Mugen’s chest. 

“Monster!” Jin shouted. 

“You know that that name means, samurai?” 

Beneath him, he heard Mugen curse softly. 

“It means his soul is mine,” Baku said. “You kill him, I kill her in return. A soul for a soul.” He pressed his knife closer to Sakiko’s throat. She squirmed as Jin saw a trickle of blood run down her throat. 

“And why would I care about the girl?” he yelled. He was bluffing. Gods, he was bluffing.

“The real question is, will your honor let her die?” 

Jin’s mind raced. Had Baku figured out Jin’s plan and Sakiko’s role in it? Or was he merely upping the ante because he had a flair for the dramatic? If it was the latter, would Baku really kill Sakiko? More to the point, was that a sacrifice Jin was willing to make? 

The arena was silent. 

Baku laughed. 

“Jin,” Mugen whispered. “Just kill me.”  


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as we get into Chapter Eight, we dive deeper into uncharted waters...apologies for the longer update wait. I'm not giving up on the story, I promise. It's just taking me longer to sort my ideas because I have less of a plan for this story than I usually do. So, cheers to spontaneous writing! Hope you all enjoy and thanks for the comments and kudos ;)

Jin’s concentration broke and he looked down at Mugen. 

“He’s bluffing, Jin. He won’t kill her. She’s the only daughter he’s got left.” 

Jin raised an eyebrow, then made a questioning grunt when he realized Mugen couldn't see the gesture.

Mugen coughed. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his mouth. “Don’t ask. Just kill me. That is your plan, isn’t it?” 

Jin looked back up at Baku, then down at Mugen again. 

“What’s your choice then, samurai?” Baku yelled. “Does she live or die?” 

“Change of plans, Mugen,” Jin muttered. He reversed his short sword in his hand and shifted his weight so that he was steadied on the ground on either side of Mugen’s torso. He drew back his arm. In the pagoda, Baku did the same. 

“Don’t do anything--” 

Jin threw his blade. 

“--stupid,” Mugen growled. 

The blade whirled, end over end, whistling through the air. 

Baku raised his arm, his own knife flashing in the torchlight.

Sakiko closed her eyes and turned her head.

Jin’s blade buried itself in Baku’s wrist. Baku howled, and dropped his knife, blood streaming down his arm. But, more importantly, he let go of Sakiko. Sakiko didn’t waste a moment. She scooped up Baku’s knife and leapt toward one of the torches on the pagoda wall while Baku’s lieutenants shook off the stupor of surprise. Grabbing the torch, she touched it to one of the cloth-covered benches in the pagoda until it burst into flame. Then she thrust the knife between her teeth, dodged Baku’s reaching hand, and vaulted the pagoda railing.

Behind her, Baku scrambled to his feet, screaming for someone to grab her. Sakiko grabbed one of the tapestries hanging off the pagoda’s rail as she fell, sliding down the tapestry to slow her fall, trailing fire down its length. As soon as she hit the ground, she tossed the torch into the lower level of the pagoda and ran towards Jin and Mugen. 

The arena was chaos and fire. Pirates and lackeys were running about, some still cheering as if this was all a planned part of the fight, others trying to put out the fire or follow Baku’s orders. Jin hadn’t planned for any of this. He suddenly wished he were better at improvising. 

* * *

“You did something stupid, didn’t you?” Mugen accused as he heard footsteps run up to them. He’d recognize those footsteps anywhere. Sakiko. 

Then he felt Jin’s hand on his arm, pulling him to his feet. 

“Perhaps,” Jin admitted, sounding a little stunned. “Can you walk?” 

“Yes,” he lied through his teeth. 

“Good, then hold this,” Jin said and Mugen felt something thrust into his left hand, something cylindrical -- the well-worn hilt of his sword. “And run!” 

“You said walk, dammit!” Mugen hissed through gritted teeth. And then Jin was at his right side, slipping an arm under his, taking his weight. 

“Walk, run, it’s all the same,” he muttered. “Let’s go.” 

Mugen grunted and staggered beside Jin. He could hear the crackle of fire as they ran and see flickering red against his closed eyelids. The smell of smoke sifted through the thick smell of dust. “Jin, what did you do?”

“I set the arena on fire.” It wasn’t Jin who answered, but Sakiko. She sounded flushed, excited -- terrified. 

“Oh, gods,” Mugen muttered, then he hissed as Jin jostled against him. There was the sound of a sword swinging through the air, then the shattering of wood and ripping of paper. The arena gates. Jin dragged him through a doorway, Mugen half-stumbling on loose wood, and the noise and smoke died down as they entered what Mugen guessed was the Challenger’s Tunnel. 

“Mugen, can you fight?” Jin asked as he practically dragged him down the tunnel, Sakiko running behind. 

“Fight what?” Mugen asked. 

“Men, Baku, anything.” 

Mugen grimaced. Not like this. Not out there, in a space he didn’t know, with a leg he didn’t trust and that familiar knife of pain in his chest again. He hated the way the two letters sounded in his mouth, but forced himself to be honest. “No.” He said it without emotion, without choking on his pride. 

Jin’s answer came after a pause. “Then hold the sword like you can and we’ll make do. Sakiko, get the door.” 

Sakiko breezed past them in the tight space, her aura singing with nervous energy. 

“It’s locked,” she said. 

“Damn it,” Jin swore with the vigor of a man berating himself for forgetting something important. “Here.” Mugen felt a shift of hands, the transfer of his weight from Jin to Sakiko. She bent under his form, her hands shaking as she put an arm around Mugen’s waist to steady him. Mugen heard a thump and Jin grunted. Another thump. Jin hissed. 

“Sakiko, your dagger.” 

Movement as the dagger passed hands. The click of a lock. 

“There,” Jin sounded pleased.

And then they were out in the open and they were running and staggering, stumbling, lurching. Mugen heard shouting, Jin’s grunts and yells, Sakiko breathing heavy in his ear, her yelps of surprise. He heard Baku’s men shout things like “Catch them!” and “Don’t let them get away!” He heard fighting, the clash of steel on steel. Mugen could hear Jin’s shouts, his precise steps as he danced with opponents. He caught the smell of sweat and blood as Jin was jostled against him at an enemy’s stroke. Mugen ached to be of use, but all he could do was wait, hunched over Sakiko, struggling for breath, struggling to stand, struggling to hold his sword in his damned crooked fingers. Struggling to stay conscious long enough to get them all out of this hellhole.

* * *

Jin lurched to a stop behind Sakiko and hunched over, hands on his knees as he got his breath back. They were in the city proper, somewhere due west of the arena, far enough away that the smoke hadn’t reached them here and the shouts of Baku’s men were only distant yells. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d managed to give Baku’s men the slip, but he was grateful for the rest, even if it was only for a moment. He could feel the sting of a few minor wounds catching up to him as he stopped running long enough to take stock of their situation.

Mugen sagged against Sakiko, stomach heaving as he drew in great gulps of air. Jin didn’t like the way he sucked at the air like it didn’t fill his lungs, the way he stood canted to one side, the way his head hung low against his chest. They had to do something about Mugen’s wounds quickly or else he wouldn’t make it out of the city. He’d already lost a lot of blood and while none of his wounds were gushing crimson anymore, Jin knew the faster he could bandage Mugen, the better his chances would be. 

Sakiko shifted under Mugen’s weight, getting him more firmly balanced on her shoulder, her own breath coming quick. She glanced at Mugen and then up at Jin, lips pressed into a tight line. She knew as well as Jin that Mugen was flagging.

“We need a way out,” Jin finally said, voice low, strained. “We can’t keep fighting. We don’t have…” Jin glanced at Mugen, saw him bite his lip, knew he caught his implied meaning “...time.” 

Sakiko was silent for a long moment. “You know Baku has guards posted at the mouth of the cavern by now,” she finally said. 

“I know,” Jin nodded. “Which is why we need another way out.” 

Sakiko looked at him with wide eyes. “Then how do we leave?” 

Jin leaned back against the wall behind him, silent while he racked his brains for a way out. They needed somewhere to lie low. A ruse. Something that would make Baku think they already slipped the city -- or died in the attempt. Jin straightened. In fact, death would be better. Like his original idea, if he could make Baku think that Mugen had been killed in the escape attempt, then there was no chance for revenge later. After all, you couldn’t reap vengeance on a dead man. 

“We’ve got to die,” he said, standing up, the announcement sudden, without preamble. 

“What?” Sakiko asked, startled. 

Beside her, Mugen stiffened, his grip on his sword going white knuckled. His face paled dramatically. 

“Mugen?” Jin asked.

He swayed and Sakiko shot Jin a panicked look. She tried to adjust her grip on Mugen’s waist, but her hand slid against his blood-slick skin. Mugen grabbed frantically at the cloth of her kimono with his right hand, but yelped and lost his grip as his injured wrist rejected the weight. He faltered and collapsed just as Jin stepped forward and caught him, sliding easily under Mugen’s shoulder again, balancing him with a hand on his chest. He was careful to avoid the bloody letters carved in Mugen’s flesh.

Mugen flinched at Jin’s touch, doubled up, face contorted in pain. His sword clattered to the ground as he heaved for breath, a panicked look on his face. Jin tightened his grip to steady Mugen, feeling helpless as Mugen staggered against him. He looked like he was fighting the urge to throw up. Mugen shoved weakly at Jin, almost as if he were trying to get away.

“Hey, Mugen, it’s me,” Jin said softly. “It’s Jin. I’ve got you. Don’t fight it.” He wasn’t sure what Mugen was fighting, only that it was something deeper than the physical wounds marring his body. Something ingrained, something instinctive. Something that had been scored into him through pain and, if Jin were to hazard a guess, torture.

Mugen stilled at Jin’s voice, some of the panic receding. He stood on legs shaky as a newborn colt’s, sweat mingling with the blood dripping down his body. His left-handed grip on Jin’s kimono was a death grip, his hesitant right hand trembled on Jin’s wrist. Jin took the hint and moved his hand. Mugen’s form went limp.

“Are you alright?” Jin asked. 

“I’m fine,” Mugen lied. The words came shaky, weak, through clenched teeth. 

Jin was certain Mugen could feel the burning stare he gave him, but he didn’t ask any questions. Not here. Not in front of Sakiko. That was a wound that would kill Mugen faster than the physical ones.

Instead, he looked over at Sakiko, who watched the whole exchange wide-eyed. Then he looked back down at the street. He needed a plan. Anything to stall for a little time. To calm the heavy beating of Mugen’s heart, slow the trembling of his limbs. To let Jin gather his thoughts and his strength. To get out of this alive. 

Jin closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. If only Fuu could see him now. He opened his eyes and looked back out at the street. The flash of a metal grate at the end of the street caught his eye. 

“Sakiko, what’s that?” he asked, pointing at the grate. 

She followed his finger. “The river,” she shrugged. “It runs under the city and out to the bay. There are grates all throughout the streets like that.” 

The edges of a plan poked at Jin’s brain. An underground river leading to the bay. If they could swim the river, they could sneak out past Baku’s guards in the tunnel. Jin raked a hand through his hair, fusing ideas and details in haphazard fashion. Baku had seen them flee. The last place he’d expect them to stay was in the Night Market. If they could find a place to hole up, then he could put together the rest of the ideas clanking around his head. He already knew that Mugen would be easier to sneak out under Baku's nose if he were "dead." What if he made it look like they were all dead? 

“Are there any abandoned houses nearby?” he asked Sakiko. 

“Abandoned?” She raised an eyebrow. 

Jin nodded. “Yes. Abandoned and, preferably, near a river gate.” 

Sakiko was about to answer when they heard the shouts of Baku's men drawing nearer. She and Jin both stiffened, like deer on the run, eyes locked on each other. Sakiko stooped to scoop up Mugen’s sword even as they both started moving again, instinct kicking in, Jin practically carrying Mugen as they hurried away from the voices.

“I think there’s an empty house near the market square," Sakiko said over her shoulder as they rounded the corner. "What do you want it for?” 

“I'm going to give Baku one more fire to take care of.”

 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this chapter was so hard for me to write, but it was. I hope it lives up to what you've been waiting for. Now the story is back on track with what I'd originally planned, so I'm hoping to get some quicker updates out for the next chapters ;) Also, I've been doing some research on the names of Japanese clothing (since that's a little important for this chapter), but if you catch a mistake, let me know.

Fuu sat in the garden of the tea house after another long day of serving tea and cakes and dealing with the ins and outs of running a restaurant. Another day without any sign of Jin or Mugen. Fuu ran her finger along the rim of her teacup, staring at her tea as if it might give her answers. It had been almost a month since she’d seen Jin at the tea house and some days she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing up. 

She didn’t think it would take Jin this long to find Mugen. After all, she’d heard plenty of rumors in the three years he’d been gone -- rumors of a crazy bastard with wild hair and blue tattoos who wreaked havoc wherever he went. Rumors out on the coast of a man who terrorized a smuggling ring and wrecked a pirate ship. Of a man who could never be caught. It was Mugen. It had to be. 

But, Fuu realized, she hadn’t heard much in the way of new rumors in about six months. The man, if he really was Mugen, seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. And Mugen wasn’t the type to disappear. Which was why she immediately set Jin on his trail when he showed up at the tea house. She’d been close to setting off to find Mugen herself -- the only thing holding her back was her promise to the lady who gifted her the shop. She couldn’t run off with no one to oversee the tea house. 

Fuu took a long sip of her tea. That was an excuse and she knew it. She had girls who’d worked with her long enough to run the tea house without her now. She swallowed and felt the tears well up in her eyes again. What if she’d waited too long? What if Mugen had been killed and she’d sent Jin after a corpse? What if her fear was what let Mugen die? 

Fuu clutched her tea cup in trembling hands as silent tears splashed into the tea. 

“Mugen, where are you?” she whispered. 

Nothing answered but the night breeze.

* * *

Mugen was aware of hands crossing his chest. Warm, calloused, so different than Baku’s. Long, slender fingers belying hidden strength. Fingers that still made the bile rise in his throat, though he tried to tamp it down. That made him remember Baku no matter how hard he tried to pretend they didn’t. Fingers that he knew were helping, even if his body couldn’t come to terms with it. 

Jin’s fingers. 

Mugen was rigid under Jin’s touch. Sakiko was gone. Where, Mugen didn’t know, but he didn’t sense her presence in the room and he hadn’t heard any sound other than the soft rustle of Jin’s clothing as he carefully set about binding Mugen’s wounds.

But to do that, Jin had to touch him and to endure that, Mugen had to fight himself every step of the way. 

“Does that hurt?” Jin asked. The fingers withdrew, disappeared. Jin’s presence faded as he leaned away from Mugen. 

Mugen felt his body instinctively curl. When Baku moved like that, the next thing coming was a blow, a blade. Mugen held his breath, waiting for a blow that never came. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jin said, tone low, sincere.

Mugen bit his tongue to stop the answer that leapt to mind. _You already have._ But he knew it was poison to say it. To him and to Jin. It would only let the demons in his mind get a greater hold and it would make Jin feel guilty. 

A chuckle bubbled up in Mugen’s throat, coming out as something wet and harsh. Just three years ago he would’ve leapt at the chance to humiliate Jin. Anything to prove he was the best, to come out on top, to rub a little dirt in that perfect face. Gods, how he’d changed in three years. 

“Mugen?” Jin sounded concerned. 

Mugen drew in a breath, feeling it sting his throat and catch in his chest. “Jin, look at us,” he said. 

He could practically feel Jin’s eyebrow going up.

“Look at us. We’re such a mess,” he said. “What would she think of us now?” 

Jin was silent for a long moment. “Fuu?” he finally asked softly. 

Mugen nodded. 

“She’d think we were a couple of fools. And then she’d probably put us to bed with a cup of tea.” 

“Tea?” 

“Tea house, remember.”

“Right.”

Jin was silent again, but his fingers returned, careful, hesitant -- a quality Mugen wasn’t used to in Jin. He was usually so certain. 

Mugen forced himself to still, forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to imagine Fuu and her warm brown eyes, her silly grin and bouncy ponytail as Jin applied some sort of salve to his wounds and wrapped Mugen’s leg and chest in strips of cloth. He bound his right wrist against something smooth and stiff, wrapping it tightly to keep it still. 

When Jin finished, Mugen heard the rustle and clink of jars and supplies being put back to order. He wondered where Jin had gotten the supplies. Perhaps that explained Sakiko’s absence? Perhaps she was in town gathering what they needed? 

Mugen cleared his throat. “Jin, we’re still--?” he trailed off, unable to make himself ask the question. 

“In the Night Market?” Jin finished for him. “Yes. But not much longer. Once Sakiko returns, we’ll leave.”

“Or die trying.”

Jin drew a sharp intake of breath. “I didn’t come here to die. Or to let you die. I told Fuu I was bringing you back. And I meant alive.” The words were clipped, precise -- all Jin. There was that stubborn streak, that honor that ran mile-wide through every fiber of Jin’s being. Mugen felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in the beginning of a smile despite himself. 

He wanted to say ‘I believe you’, but his traitorous mouth wouldn't form the words because he couldn't afford to. Couldn't afford to voice the hope that settled warm in his chest, just in case it didn't work and they all died tonight. 

Just then, there was the creak of a footstep on the wooden floor and Mugen felt Jin shift beside him, then offer him a hand. Mugen took it and sat up. 

“Everything ready?” Jin asked. 

“Yes,” Sakiko replied. “The grate’s off and there’s a ledge that runs down by the river. I dropped the lantern in so we can...find our way.” 

Mugen was pretty sure she stopped herself from saying ‘so we can see.’ He ignored it.

“Good,” Jin said. “Then I need Mugen’s pants.” 

“My what?” Mugen asked.

“Your pants,” Jin said. “I’d use your scarf, but we left it in the arena. It's the best I can do if I want your death to look believable.”

"My death?" Mugen tried to keep the shake out of his voice. Tried to stop the shivers running up his back as memories of those hands returned, fingers hooking the waistline of his pants, tearing, grabbing, pulling. He swallowed hard and fought the urge to curl up again, to protect himself. And then he heard the slither of cloth beside him and something was draped over his shoulders. 

“Here,” Jin said and Mugen realized it was Jin’s kimono. “You can wear this. I'm going to fake our deaths," he explained. "It's the only way to stop Baku from following us as we leave.” 

Mugen nodded. "Alright," he said, gritting his teeth against the memories, the ghostly sensations he felt slide up his spine as he began to undo the tie at the top of his pants. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Jin's kimono to distract himself -- he could smell traces of smoke and the heavy scent of sweat -- and something else. Something sharp and familiar. The tang of blood. Mugen stiffened. 

“Jin, you’re --” he began.

“It’s nothing,” Jin cut him off, voice firm but gentle. “I’m fine.” 

Mugen was silent for a long time. He was stalling and they all knew it. And then he felt Sakiko’s gentle hands on his shoulders. She didn’t speak, she merely wrapped Jin’s kimono around him, tying it closed around his waist. Then she tapped him twice on the shoulder, her signal that she had turned away and Mugen felt some of the panic leave his chest. Then he heard the creak of footsteps -- two sets -- as Jin and Sakiko left the room. 

He told himself the shake in his hands was just from his injuries.

* * *

 

It was a horrible deception, really. It wasn’t going to fool anyone with two eyes and a brain, but Jin was gambling on the fact that a lot of Baku’s thugs were short on at least one of those things. 

Jin leaned back against the alley wall, the stone cool between his bare shoulder blades, and took a deep breath. All he had to do was find a couple of Baku’s men and lure them back to the house without getting caught. 

Simple enough. 

He reached up and pulled the tie loose that held his hair back, shaking it out over his shoulders. He knew he must be a mess, but that suited his purposes well. Without his glasses, and only wearing his hakama he probably looked like some sort of prize fighter or thug. Jin snorted in disgust. He was a samurai. He wasn’t supposed to be skulking around in alleys waiting to lay traps and deception. But then again, he was used to fighting other men of honor, opponents who at least believed in giving him a fair chance in a fight. Baku believed in stealing every chance he got. 

Jin wondered where the big man was now. They hadn’t seen him since the arena fire. Had he been killed in the burning pagoda? Jin felt the answer was no, since Baku’s men were still scouring the Night Market for them. Which made Jin reasonably certain that Baku was still giving orders from somewhere, even if it was from a healer’s ward. 

At least Jin hadn’t seen Baku himself searching for them. Not that Baku would, even if he weren’t injured. Jin got the feeling the man liked others to do his dirty work, the running around, the catching. Baku only liked to mete out punishment and from the way Mugen looked, it was harsh and it was often. Jin shuddered. What he wouldn’t give to run the man through with his sword. 

But that wasn’t his mission. At least, not now. For now, he had to get Mugen out of here alive. And for that, he needed Baku’s men. Jin took a deep breath and pushed off the wall. 

It didn’t take him long to find a group of Baku’s men. Jin tucked himself into the shadow of a nearby alley and watched. The men were only half-heartedly looking through the streets as they walked, swords held casually at their sides. They carried a couple of torches and occasionally thrust them into an alley or doorway. 

“They must be long gone by now,” one of the men in the group was saying. “C’mon, there’s no way they could hide this long.” 

“I dunno, that samurai seemed pretty clever to me. Maybe he knows some sort of secret ninja art?” 

“Idiot. Ninja and samurai are two different things. Samurai don’t do that sneaking around stuff. I bet he just killed the Champion and skipped off by himself. He’s probably got some sort of secret way in and out of the cave we don’t even know about.” 

“I thought you said samurai don’t sneak around.” 

“Well, he was with Sakiko. Maybe she knew another way out.” 

“Oh, so you think they did the Champion in and then skipped off into the sunset?” 

Jin sighed and stepped out of the alley. “Samurai don’t skip,” he said.

There was a split-second of silence and then an uproar as the men pointed and shouted and drew weapons. “That’s him!” Someone shouted and they were all running. 

But Jin was already gone, twisting back the way he came, heading deeper into the Night Market’s back streets. He kept far enough ahead of the men that he wasn’t in danger of being caught, but close enough to keep them on his tail as he led them back to the abandoned house. He hoped to the gods Sakiko was ready. Hoped she had Mugen in place and the trap laid. He rounded the last corner near the house and ran up to the door, leaping over the rope that lay stretched across the floor and pulling the door shut behind him with a slam. He knocked the latch into place before taking the stairs two at a time.

“There! In that house!” one of the men yelled outside. 

Jin crested the stairs and found, to his relief, Sakiko crouched under the window overlooking the street, kimono undone, lit candle in hand, looking for all the world like a ghost as the moonlight struck the pale white of her juban and loose, dark hair. Mugen was nowhere to be seen. But his tattered pants lay in a pile on the floor. Jin could smell the oil Sakiko had spread around the room to fuel the fire.

Sakiko looked at him and nodded. Below them, they heard the men pounding and pulling on the door, trying to break it free. 

Jin knelt beside Sakiko and drew his short blade. A shallow cut ran across his left forearm from their earlier escape attempts. He lay the blade against the cut.

"Are you sure about this?" Sakiko asked.

Jin nodded. "It's got to look real," he said. With a hiss, he opened the cut again.

Mugen's pants were already bloody enough, but Sakiko's clothes were relatively clean. If anything survived the fire they planned to set, Jin wanted it to look like Mugen and Sakiko were dead. Then he stood up and drew his long sword and thrust it into the floorboards. He grabbed Mugen’s blade and hefted it, testing its weight. It would do for now. He hated to lose a sword, but if he wanted it to look like he perished alongside Mugen and Sakiko, he had to leave something of his in the house for them to find.

“Samurai! We know you’re in there! Open up!” 

Jin met her eye. “Ready?” he whispered. 

“Ready,” she nodded. 

Jin stood up and grabbed Sakiko around her waist, letting the blood from his arm smear her kimono and juban as he hauled her upright. She pretended to struggle in his grip as he shoved her toward the window, Mugen's sword at her throat. She screamed and drew the attention of the men at the door. 

“Stay where you are!” Jin shouted. “Try to come in and I’ll kill her. I’ve already killed your Champion.” He hefted Mugen’s sword so the men below could see it flash in the moonlight. 

There were some murmurs from the men as they weighed Jin’s words and assessed this new threat. Jin had no doubt that Baku’s orders were to kill him, but he had no idea what the man planned for Sakiko. If Mugen was correct, Baku didn’t want to kill her, but Jin didn’t know if that still held after her act of insubordination in the arena. 

Still, the men on the street below paused. Which must mean they hadn’t been told to kill Sakiko outright. Knowing Baku, they were probably to bring her back alive to face his wrath. 

“You’re outnumbered, Samurai!” one of the men shouted. “Even if you kill her, we still kill you.” 

“Oh, I don’t plan on letting anyone do me in.” He prodded Sakiko with the dull edge of Mugen's sword and she held up the candle in a shaky hand.

“See that?” he shouted at the men below. 

They all stared back, uncertain, confused. 

“It’s a candle,” Jin explained, like he was talking to a child. “I’ve doused this floor in oil. You break in, I kill her and set the house ablaze and we all go up in flames.” 

“You fool! You’ll die too!” someone realized. 

“That’s the idea,” Jin cackled, letting some of the exhaustion and frustration he felt seep into the sound. He sounded mad. Perhaps he was. He moved the sword again and Sakiko squirmed as if it were uncomfortable and someone below shouted “Stop!” 

“Tell you what,” Jin said. “I’ll make you a deal. One where we all leave alive. Sound good?” Jin hated the way the words sounded in his mouth. Vile and honorless. “You all agree to leave and pretend you never saw anything, I’ll agree to leave her up here alive while I make my escape.” 

The men talked quietly among themselves again. Probably weighing Jin’s words against Baku’s threats. The murmurs stopped as the men came to a decision. And then they rushed the door as one. Jin jerked Sakiko back from the window, as if surprised, but they both were holding back smiles of triumph. The latch on the door downstairs wouldn’t hold long against a full assault, but that was all part of the plan. 

They heard the latch splinter even as Sakiko slipped out of her kimono. Jin grabbed it up and pinned it to the wall with his long sword, making sure to smear more blood over it as he did. Although the clothes would probably burn, Jin knew his sword would survive the fire. Hopefully that would be enough. It had to be.

Jin turned back to Sakiko and mouthed, "Now." 

Sakiko dropped her candle on the oil-soaked floorboards. The oil caught almost instantly and flames licked greedily at the wooden floor. Just then they heard shouts from downstairs as the men pried the door open and then a snap and a crash as someone triggered the rope trap, which dropped a pot of oil and a lit lantern on the floor in front of the door. Jin heard the woosh of flames downstairs as he hurried to the back window and jumped. He took the two story fall as gracefully as he could, rolling to absorb the impact, but he still felt his bones protest as he hit the street below. But he didn’t have time to dwell on the pain. He stood up and turned just in time to catch Sakiko as she leapt out of the window after him. Jin staggered as he caught her, his left ankle protesting more than he would’ve liked, but he shook his head at her questioning gaze as he set her down.

They hurried over to the sewer grate set in the street. True to her word, Sakiko had the grate loose and laying on the street beside the hole leading to the underground river. Jin took her hand and lowered her in first, hearing the soft splash of her feet as she landed on the ledge. Then he dropped into the hole himself. He hung from the edge just long enough to pull the grate back into place, then let himself drop. He missed the ledge and fell into the river, the shock of the cold water lighting up every ache and sting and pain in his body. He almost gasped, but remembered just in time to keep his mouth shut as he slipped under the surface. And then he remembered how to swim and he came up for a welcome breath of air. 

Luckily, the river was slow-moving and he swam over to the ledge with no problem. Sakiko crouched there, arms around Mugen’s still form, a look of worry on her face that turned to relief as Jin’s head broke the surface. She held out a hand and helped haul Jin onto the ledge. 

Jin wrung the water out of his hair and fought the urge to shiver in the cool breeze coming off the water. 

“You alright?” Sakiko asked, voice low. 

Jin nodded. He was fine.

Then he knelt by Mugen (who, he was relieved to find, was still conscious) and spoke softly in his ear. Mugen nodded, making visible effort to steel himself. Jin reached out and hauled Mugen to his feet, then knelt so that Mugen could climb onto his back. It would be faster this way, especially since Mugen was beginning to limp hard on his right leg and Jin was afraid he was going to pass out any minute. 

He felt Mugen shudder as he wrapped his arms around Jin’s neck. With Sakiko’s help, Jin bound Mugen’s hands in front of him so that Mugen wouldn’t fall if he passed out, then wrapped his arms around Mugen’s legs and stood, carrying his friend. 

“I’m sorry,” Jin murmured over his shoulder to Mugen. He knew enough by now to know that it was his touch that sent Mugen into a panic, caused his breath to come fast and sharp. Jin was obviously dredging memories Mugen would rather forget, memories he was sure involved Baku, but he didn't see any better way to do this.

His only answer was the weight of Mugen’s head dropping heavily on his shoulder. There was a moment of panic and then Sakiko was at his side, feeling Mugen’s wrist for a pulse.

“Unconscious,” she murmured. “But alive.” She knelt to light the lantern they’d lowered to the ledge, then stood up, shielding the lantern with her hand and tilted her head for Jin to follow. 

Jin swallowed hard and looked back up at the grate. He could see the flicker of fire and hear the shouts of Baku’s men as they dealt with the chaos above. Then he looked forward again and followed the pale white shape of Sakiko as she walked across the ledge and out of the Night Market.


End file.
